Alternity: Full Circle
by S. A. Ryan
Summary: They escaped the Realm with a harsh lesson: love involves sacrifice. Years later, they must return and face the consequences. Their only hope is to uncover the secret hidden from them, the one that could destroy them: the truth behind it all.
1. Into the Dark Night

Chapter One: **Into the Dark Night**

Robert Rowen pulled his red Corvette into the driveway. Home was a large split-level house fashioned with brick and siding. It was nestled in a quiet residential neighborhood, and for that, he was profoundly grateful. He guided his car into the garage, sighed, and then turned off the ignition. It had been a very long day at the office. He was tired.

He was only thirty-three, but he felt as if he were fifty. His massive six foot seven inch frame was well muscled, and he made certain he kept fit. His sandy blond hair was already beginning to show some signs of early gray.

_Some days the mileage is definitely starting to show._

Thankfully, it was Friday, and that made things a little more relaxed, but only slightly, given his promise to Anna. He still had to go over the contract for P&B with his partner in the firm, but Adam and that forsaken mess could wait until Monday morning. He had promised Anna that he wouldn't miss her softball game this time, and if there was one thing he tried hard to avoid, it was disappointing his daughter.

He was forced to admit that he had done that far too often lately. He had promised his wife that when they moved here six years ago, that he would have more time, for her, and especially for Anna. The last three weeks had conspired to make a hypocrite out of him, and he hated it.

As the only lawyer in the area with any experience in corporate law, he had been practically blackmailed by an old friend into handling it for the county, whether he liked it or not. The contract negotiations had drug out to the last minute, and then both sides refused any form of common sense. That wasn't unexpected. When he used to handle these kinds of cases every day, and he was tested, he just loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and waited them out. Normally, his size and dour expression made everyone extremely uncomfortable. Adam referred to it only half jokingly as his "madman" expression. Often, the other side would rather cave in than sit in the same room with an angry giant. When Adam tried asking where he had learned to do that, he only responded that he had seen far worse "monsters" than those in the courtroom or at the mediation table.

This time, he had to leave the room for a moment to get his legendary temper back under control.

He was finally home, and all he wanted was to spend some time with Terri and Anna. He grabbed his briefcase, and folded his jacket over the left arm. He shoved the door of the car shut, and then walked toward the front door.

The summer sun had heated the cobblestone walk like a griddle, and there wasn't a single cloud in the blue expanse overhead. It was a perfect summer day, and the breeze carried the scent of the flowerbeds to him. Terri always devotedly tended the patches of honeysuckle, iris, and a dozen other flowers that bordered the walkway. He breathed deeply. The scents were a little cloying, but it helped him relax. He never understood how she ever managed to make them grow. He had not even the slightest understanding of gardening, but his wife seemed to just coax them from the earth with that smile of hers.

No one was home yet, so he set down his case, and began looking for the right key. The phone in the kitchen began to ring.

_Damn it._

He flipped through the keys faster, and then slid the key into the lock and turned it. Leaving his case on the steps, he sprinted though the kitchen, and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

It was a telemarketer. He slapped the phone into the cradle, and retrieved his briefcase. It was then that he noticed the date on the small calendar that Terri kept next to the telephone.

June 17th.

He had been so busy with family and work, he hadn't remembered the date this morning, for the first time in years. Guilt surged through him. He dropped the case, and flung his car keys onto the counter angrily with a flick of his wrist.

_June 17th!_

He removed his tie, and dropped it on the table. Then he went to the cabinet, and reached for a bottle he kept high out of reach.

When Terri and Anna came home a half an hour later, he still had the same glass in front of him. He had poured himself a double, but hadn't touched it. When Terri saw him, she paused, knowing what was bothering him.

"Why don't you go play over at Nancy's, Anna? Your Dad and I need to talk for awhile."

"Okay, Mom," she said, a little too quickly, dropping her backpack on one of the kitchen chairs next to him. Anna smiled at him.

She had Terri's raven hair, and his own deep blue eyes. Fortunately, she had her mother's good sense, and none of his temper. Terri fervently denied ever having her sunny disposition, and he certainly never had one. He suspected she inherited that from his grandmother...as had his sister. Anna kissed him quickly on the cheek.

"I love you, Daddy."

Then she darted out the door before he could answer.

"Are you going to be all right, Bobby?" Terri asked him quietly, sitting down in the free chair on his left. She placed her hand over his.

Terri had known him since they were children. They had always been very close, as if fate planned for them to be together. In fact, it seemed to have gone well out of its way to guarantee it. He looked at her now.

Unlike his own early gray, her hair was still as black as midnight, and her blue eyes still had that look he could never escape. That strangely warm, but knowing gaze had always been there, even on the first day they met. Despite growing up, getting jobs, being married, and having a daughter, she had changed little. She still looked younger than she actually was, and as always, she seemed to see right through him.

"No, not really," he admitted, finally taking a sip of bourbon. "I'd almost forgotten, Terri. I just happened to glance at the calendar when I got home."

"You have to let her go. It wasn't your fault, and you can't keep beating yourself up every time June 17th comes around."

He had always been a hothead. He tended to explode now and again, as Adam could testify to on stack of Bibles. He wished he could now, and release the anger that was boiling beneath the surface. He looked at his wife irritably. He wanted to be angry. She knew what day it was, but hadn't said a word when he left this morning. He wanted to be furious, but he could never keep his anger with her or particularly Anna. They just seemed to melt it away.

Terri hadn't said anything, because he knew she hoped that this would happen someday. She was hoping that he would forget, because he had to move on. She was right again, as usual.

"I know," he said squeezing her hand. "But knowing doesn't make it any easier to do. I can't forget, and I still miss her."

He gave up the glass, and Terri set it aside, to pour down the sink later. He didn't need alcohol to be miserable, and Terri hated it without reserve. He even managed to make it into the living room this time, before he broke down weeping.

* * *

_The edges of the gray stone slabs crumbled beneath the weight of their steps as Bobby and the others walked the length of the ancient promenade. They had been searching the decaying ruins for the last three days. Elves had walked here a thousand years ago, but now the forest had reclaimed most of their once magnificent city. Time and the elements worked steadily on what was left, until there were only shattered, broken walls and sections of the streets. Even these would eventually be swallowed by nature, until no one would know that anyone had ever been here._

_Suddenly, Bobby spotted it and whooped out loud._

"_Over here!"_

_The portal floated in midair, a shimmering plane of translucent mist, a few inches from the surface of the gray stone. It began to shimmer brightly, rippling like a pool of water, as if in greeting to his approach. The often wished for amusement park, that had occupied their dreams of home for the past five years, appeared within._

_The others came rushing over in response to his calls, and stared. They stood there for a moment, not believing that this time would be any different than the myriad of times that they had tried, and failed, to get home. But nothing happened. No one screamed for help, and the evil sorcerer, Venger, was nowhere to be seen._

_They waited, listening to the sounds of the wind passing through the dark green leaves of the verdant forest. Birdsong greeted their ears, and the spring breeze carried the early scent of wildflowers. The suns cast bright shafts through the treetops to warm the stones below._

_In spite of five long years, they all looked much the same as they had on that first day that they discovered that they were trapped in the Realm. 'Much the same' didn't really cover it. 'Unchanged' would be closer to the truth._

_His sister, Sheila, was now twenty-one, but she was indistinguishable from any other teenager of sixteen. Bobby himself was fourteen, but looked exactly as he had at nine. It was the same for their four friends: Hank, Eric, Diana, and Presto. It was as if they had stopped aging altogether the moment they had become castaways in this strange world._

_Sheila pulled Hank close, her face wet with tears of joy. The blond ranger smiled, and returned her embrace. Bobby grimaced, and muttered, "Mushy." In fact, his annoyance was more for show, than a genuine feeling. He had decided long ago that he liked the idea of Hank and his sister as a couple._

_There wasn't another person Bobby respected more than Hank, and now Hank had kept his promise. They were going home. Hank and Sheila had been slowly drifting apart. Perhaps now, they would have a chance to patch things up. Hank was the only one Bobby trusted to care for his sister as much as himself._

_Once they were home, maybe Sheila could even stop fussing over him. Somehow, he doubted that. He could, and had, faced down dragons, but nothing ever seemed to convince his gentle red haired sister that he could take care of himself._

_Diana was smiling._

"_Well, what are we waiting for?" Eric demanded. "Let's go." He emphasized the last word expansively. "After you, my lady," he told Diana, bowing._

_Eric's attitude was still the same. He had a silver spool shoved up his nether regions, and sarcasm was still only a breath away. Bobby was sure now, though, that his attitude was more of an act than real. Sheila had taken the time to explain it once, but it had taken five long years before Bobby himself was convinced. Eric's attitude toward Diana though, had warmed considerably. Bobby suspected that he liked the dark skinned gold medal gymnast, turned acrobat, but Eric never admitted it outright. Still, she meant he was a little easier to deal with, but not much._

_Diana gave him a momentary look of annoyance, but turned her head to smile over her shoulder as she stepped through. She reappeared on the other side, dressed in her long forgotten jeans, and summer tee. When the others paused in amazement at her, Eric simply shrugged melodramatically and followed her example._

_Only Presto had remained completely impassive the entire time. He still resembled the proverbial nerd, with his thin frame, bottlecap glasses, and shock of unruly brown hair. If the Realm had done anyone a favor, it was Presto. He wasn't the timid person he had been, when they first met. Even Bobby had grudgingly decided he wasn't a wimp after all._

_Hank grinned._

"_You're up, Presto."_

_The smiled faded when he saw the look on Presto's face._

"_No, Hank. I'm not going back with you," Presto answered. "I'm staying here."_

_Hank recoiled. "What?" he demanded._

_Bobby just stared at Presto, and Sheila looked downcast._

"_Don't look at me like that. I'm staying."_

_When no response came, Presto sighed tiredly. "Hank, you know I'm an orphan." He turned to include all of them in his gaze. "Except for you all, these past five years, I don't have any family. There isn't anyone or anything to go back to. Varla is here."_

_Then Presto did something he seldom ever did. Rather than looking down, he looked Hank straight in the eyes. He was serious!_

"_I love her, Hank. I know she is waiting for me. I can feel it, just as I can feel her presence. I've had time to consider all of this. I'm staying, and you can't change my mind. Now, please, get out of here."_

_Hank started to speak, but Sheila moved forward and embraced Presto in a tight hug, cutting off whatever Hank was going to say. Her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears, but she was smiling._

"_Are you sure, Albert?" she asked quietly. Presto had smiled back at Sheila then. She had always been more than just a friend to him. She was the sister Presto never had. Sheila was the only one of them who ever used his real name, and usually only when she wanted to be certain she had his attention._

"_Yes, I'm sure. More sure than I've ever been."_

"_I thought you might say that," she said, as if she had expected this. Sheila hadn't seemed surprised. "We'll miss you. Take good care of yourself."_

_She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and squeezed her hug a little tighter before stepping back and wiping her eyes. Hank stepped forward, and placed his hand on Presto's shoulder._

"_Good luck," was all he said._

_Bobby had a distinct distaste for this emotional turn of events, and had fiddled with his helmet to hide his expression. "See ya, pal."_

_Presto grinned at Bobby then, and vanished in a flash._

_Sheila's hands went to her mouth in surprise, stepping over to examine the empty space where Presto had been standing. Hank chuckled quietly. Presto had tried to show them a disappearing act when they first met. It was a disaster. He finally got it right._

_Bobby watched as Sheila turned to him. The world seemed to wash out into shades of gray. Bobby glanced away as a bright light blinded him._

"_No!"_

_The sound of his voice seemed to echo slowly. No one heard him as he screamed._

_Then the ground exploded right next to Sheila, flinging her into the air. She landed several feet away, as the blast showered the area with gouged earth and debris from the ancient stonework. Bobby had to squint his eyes clear of the dust, but he watched every detail, frozen, unable to move, as if time had slowed to a near stop._

_His sister was covered in fine powder, blasted from the stone. He watched as she tried to get up, and screamed. Her emerald eyes seemed to stand out from a face smeared with streaks of gray. Her expression was etched with fear and pain. She somehow managed to rise on her right knee, but her left leg was twisted in at an inhuman angle._

"_Bobby! Run!" She yelled to him desperately._

_The second blast of white fire grazed her left side. Bobby watched in horror as even that slight contact seemed to melt her, burning away her dress and blackening the pale skin beneath, before the force of even that partial impact spun her over on to her back. The ball of flame continued past her before slamming into a ruined wall. It groaned as it tottered ponderously, and then collapsed on top of her, blanketing the area in another cloud of gray dust._

"_SHEILA!" he heard his own voice screaming._

_He heard Hank's magical bow fire two golden bolts of energy, and a scream of inhuman rage echoed from above. The sorcerer could deflect Hank's arrows harmlessly with just his bare hands. His mount couldn't._

_Bobby was only vaguely aware of Venger's dark winged mount as it suddenly plummeted, plowing into the ground._

_Then Hank was rushing past Bobby to the pile of rubble. Time seemed to snap back into focus, and then he and Hank were flinging aside as much of the debris as he could. He knew they found her only minutes later, but it seemed like an eternity. They managed to uncover her, but she was still pinned beneath the unstable pile of shattered stone from the waist down. Bobby was going to try to bat them aside with his own weapon, a club, but Hank grabbed his arm._

"_No!" Hank screamed at him, "That will bring them all down on top of her."_

_Hank gingerly knelt next to her. Her arms had deep cuts where she had tried to protect her face. There was a nasty gash on her right cheek that was bleeding badly. She was still breathing, but it sounded hollow._

_Hank's hands were balled into fists, the knuckles white. But there wasn't anything either of them could think to do, unless they could somehow get her out from under the rubble and through the portal to a hospital. The pile was already unstable. If they tried anything more, it was likely to bring the rest down, crushing her below the waist – or worse. Bobby couldn't bear to look at the charred ruins of his sister's left side. For the first time in his life, he felt truly helpless._

_Sheila opened her eyes slowly, and they were alight with pain. Somehow, she smiled at him._

"_Hank, Bobby. You have to go, and you have to go now," she said._

_Bobby shook his head. "No."_

"_You two mean all the world to me. We both know you can't beat Venger alone. He is still coming. You have to leave me behind. You can't help me, not this time."_

"_I'm not leaving you!" Bobby growled._

_Somehow, she seemed to gather the strength to answer his defiance._

"_Robert, don't you _dare_ argue!"_

Oh, god. She sounded exactly like Mom.

_The effort seemed to drain her, and her eyes blinked. She coughed harshly. When she continued her voice was even weaker and shaky._

"_Bobby, please..." Sheila's eyes squeezed shut in pain. Bobby heard a grinding sound, as the pile shifted. She screamed in protest._

"_Go," she begged him, "for me." She groaned, her jaw set. "They can't – lose – us – both..."_

"_No," he repeated again._

"_Get him out of here, Hank."_

_Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Get him home. Take care of him ...for me..."_

_She had always been there, looking out for him, and taking care of all of them. The one certainty of his life was that Sheila was always there. He barely registered what followed._

_Her eyes squeezed shut again. She coughed again, and her entire body spasmed. It shook her slender frame violently. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking past both them in fear._

_Hank suddenly grabbed him by his harness, and shoved him away, as a new blast toppled the already unstable pile to one side. He was picked up completely, his club taken out of his hands, and hauled away from his sister toward the portal._

"_Let me go!" he screamed._

_He kicked, and fought the entire distance to the portal._

_Ignoring Sheila entirely, the sorcerer focused on them. Bobby barely noticed another deadly salvo of magic that Hank somehow managed to dodge. All that he saw was the distance between himself and his sister increase._

"_There is no escape for you," Venger purred. A sadistic smile crossed the sorcerer's face._

_Hank ignored him, stumbling from another near miss. Bobby felt himself being tossed into the portal, and grabbed Hank's tunic, refusing to go without her. Bobby watched as Hank glanced back toward Sheila at the last instant, and made a terrible choice._

"_Stop!" Venger howled._

_Venger lobbed a huge mass of white flame toward them with both hands. Hank plunged through the portal, taking Bobby with him._

* * *

He bolted upright in bed, shaking.

_The same nightmares._

Sometimes they didn't bother him for several months at a time, and then other times they returned to haunt him for weeks. He stilled himself, and then gently climbed out of bed. Terri was still sleeping, and he didn't want to wake her. While her very presence helped to restore him, there was little that even she could do to banish the ghosts that the memories of his sister brought up over the last twenty five years.

He stood for a moment, watching the red numerals of the digital clock on the nightstand change to 11:45 pm. He could hear Terri's breathing as she was slept soundly. He quietly left their bedroom, and entered the hall. As he made his way toward the stairway, he paused.

He poked his head into Anna's room as quietly as he could manage. He watched her sleeping so peacefully for a moment, before smiling sadly to himself. Sheila would have adored Anna. It was another bitter sorrow that Anna would never meet her aunt. They were so much alike, seeing the sunny side of life, even when things were bleak. He wished his daughter the most pleasant of dreams, and then headed back toward the staircase.

The house, and the entire world seemed forlorn and empty at night when Terri and Anna were sleeping, and he was alone. It wasn't too often that he wandered to the kitchen in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, but it wasn't unheard of. Especially on this particular night of the year.

He went down the stairs as silently as a shadow. He realized he needn't have worried. He could hear the first grumblings of a summer thunderstorm. Soon, it would gather, and the rain would cover almost any sound he could make on the old staircase as he descended.

He turned left into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. He examined the contents for a moment. _Tuna salad, tatertot hotdish, leftover pizza..._ He found the milk. Taking it in one hand, he closed the refrigerator door, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He filled it, returned the milk to its proper place, and sat down at the table.

It had taken a long time to forgive Hank for pulling him away from his sister as she had lain there, pinned under the rubble, dying, and even longer for him to let Sheila herself finally rest. Eventually, he just wasn't able to hold on to her anymore. Time had chipped away at his stubborn resolve.

The memories of Sheila together with himself and their parents as a family had long since been washed away. Finally, even her face had began to fade, and he had to look at old photos to remember details. All he had left was the love he felt for her, and few incomplete memories of the seemingly many times her actions, words, warm eyes, and bright smiles told him that she had always felt the same.

It reminded him with a bitter certainty that a vital part of his childhood, of his very life, had been ripped from him without mercy.

Now, while his dreams and heart tormented him, time was slowly stealing away all he had left of her.

He wasn't the only one.

Hank had wandered through his life aimlessly in the years since. With her gone, something vital in his friend seemed broken beyond repair. Bobby's own anger toward Hank made matters worse, until he started to avoid Bobby. Hank kept that distance for years, but Bobby suspected he was nearby, looking after him, regardless. Hank always seemed suddenly to be there when he was most needed. Just as quickly, he would retreat, before Bobby could question him.

It was his way of keeping Sheila's last request.

After almost ten years of constantly avoiding each other, Terri was the one who forced them to tear down that insurmountable wall they had created in the wake of Sheila's death. She refused to let Bobby or Hank leave until they had spoken to each other. If Bobby wouldn't talk to Hank, she had said, then he needn't bother talking to her again either. Hank looked just as surprised when he heard the ultimatum, but acquiesced. The conversation shortly became angry and loud, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

Bobby finally realized that they both felt the same way. They both felt guilty about his sister's death. They both finally admitted that nothing they could have done would have saved her. The last ten years of avoiding each other, hiding the pain, it was all for nothing. Terri knew Bobby had valued Hank's friendship when he was young, and the loss of his childhood mentor and friend was always eating at him.

When Bobby later demanded to know why she had insisted, she simply looked at him as if he had asked the most obvious question in the world.

_'Because I love you, you idiot!' she had told him, 'And I'll do whatever it takes, because I do.'_

From that moment on, he could never stay angry with her for long, no matter how hard he tried. All that she had to do was give him that look. Terri wanted to help him, no matter what it cost her. Even if it tore her apart. She loved him, more than her own life. Of that, he had never been more certain.

Bobby realized later that Terri had forced the issue not just for himself, but for Hank as well. Hank seemed to finally let go of Sheila's memory. He married Nora Winford three years later. Now that that chapter of their lives had finally been closed, Bobby, in turn, had asked Terri to marry him, just a few days after Hank's wedding. He knew she was waiting for him to ask, and that there would never be anyone else.

Bobby watched as lightning began to illuminate the kitchen in bursts, giving everything a nightmarish aspect. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone.

For just an instant, he was sure that someone was in the room with him. He shook off the feeling. Unwanted memories and the lack of sleep were playing tricks on his already tired mind. He drank the last swallow of milk from the glass, rinsed it, and placed it in the sink. He glanced at the clock on the microwave as he left the kitchen to head back upstairs.

_11:59 pm._

He needed to get some sleep. Anna's softball game was tomorrow, assuming the field wasn't washed out. He was almost to the top of the stairs, when the feeling of being watched returned, stronger than ever. He stalked back to the bedroom, deliberately ignoring what he was certain was a nervous residue of a bad night.

He later wished that he hadn't ignored it.

As he entered the bedroom, Terri was wide awake. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

Then he saw it.

In one corner of the room, the world seemed be flowing together, blending into a swirling vortex of colors. The same vortex that had pulled him, Sheila, and their friends away from Earth to the Realm, years ago. The vortex that had stolen everything from him: his childhood, his family...

_No!_

He darted to the bed, and grabbed Terri by the arm. He pulled her to him, dragging her bodily off of the bed to her feet. His only thought was to get her and Anna as far away from the vortex as fast as he could.

Before he and Terri made it halfway to the bedroom door, the room was filled with a hurricane of wind. The door slammed shut.


	2. Many Unhappy Returns

**Chapter Two:** Many Unhappy Returns

The world came back into focus, and Bobby squeezed his eyes shut. The sunlight on his face was warm, even pleasant, but unbearably bright. He could feel the rough ground underneath him. Every muscle of his body ached, and his head felt like someone had been using it for a battering ram.

"Bobby? Can you hear me?" Terri was shaking him gently. Her voice was desperate, afraid. He opened his eyes slowly, and groaned.

He was wearing leggings, boots tied crisscrossed with straps, and a vest. They were made from hides of animals, roughly cut and sewn, but comfortable. Terri's satin nightgown had been replaced with knee high leather boots and leggings tailored from supple leather, and an elegant white blouse with long loose sleeves.

They were sitting on a plain of rough sandy brown rock, that had been shattered into jumble of ravines and smaller defiles. The earth was too harsh for anything to grow, and was littered with scree that had fallen down a wall of rock a few feet away. What breeze there was, it was dry, devoid of everything; except what little dust was ground from the rocks. In the distance, he could see massive boulders suspended in midair, as if a giant hand had torn them from the earth, and cast them into the sky, where they remained suspended hundreds of feet overhead, openly defying gravity and common sense. Four suns shone brightly in a sky of perfect blue.

_The Realm._

"I'm all right," he told her, groaning again as he demanded his body to sit up, in spite of the protests of his back.

"Anna? Where is Anna?" she demanded.

Their daughter was nowhere to be seen. The vortex hadn't wanted their child, just him. Terri had been pulled in with him.

"She'll be all right," he told Terri, taking her hand, "She's still at home."

"ALL RIGHT? Anna is only _nine_! She's alone!"

"I know." He was frightened too, but tried to keep it out of his voice. "But the last time we were here, only a day passed at home."

"_A day?"_, she said acidly, "Our daughter is alone, _Robert!_ I remember what you told me! We aren't even sure if we can get back to her!"

Terri never used his full name unless she was furious. The venom she had in her voice, and sheer anger in her eyes made him flinch. He'd never seen her quite like this. Not even on their worst days. As if... As if this was all his fault.

He was frightened more than he let her know. He didn't need to mention that it had taken five years to get home last time. This world had brought them together. It was the only thing this world had done for him that he was grateful for. Last time, this place had cost him dearly: first, his childhood, and then his beloved sister. Heavens be damned if it was going to cost him his family again.

He knew this place. Years ago, he, his sister, and their friends had fled from the dragon, Tiamat. They had climbed up the rock wall only a few feet away from where he sat now, only to encounter Venger as he struggled with the Dragon Queen. Then they met the Dungeon Master face to face, on that first terrible day.

Unbidden, and unwanted, the memory of the Dungeon Master's first words came back to him. _Fear not! Ranger, Barbarian, Magician, Thief, Cavalier, and Acrobat!_

_Damn it all! Damn it to HELL! _His rage exploded.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" he roared.

Terri jumped in surprise, as he howled at the open air. Bobby's demand echoed off of the rocks, unanswered. The Dungeon Master didn't appear.

"_WHY?_ WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN US? YOU ALWAYS DID BEFORE! MY SISTER IS _DEAD_ BECAUSE OF _YOU!"_

His anger surprised even him, and his voice cracked with grief. It welled up like an endless ocean, threatening to drown him all over again. His voice lowered to a plea. "Why?"

Terri was staring over his shoulder. He leapt to his feet and spun quickly, balling up his fists. Someone was behind him.

His black hair was cut the same as Bobby remembered. Time seemed to have passed over him, changing him only in small ways. He was dressed in his old armor, sized to fit, but his shield was missing. The expression on his face was perpetually one of mild annoyance, as if every mishap in life was an attempt to inconvenience him personally in whatever fashion he saw fit to name. _Eric._

His companion was a tall slender woman, wearing nothing more than a fur bikini and boots. Her skin was a warm, rich dark brown. She had the shape and form of an athlete, and moved with an easy grace. Her brown eyes were kind, but stern, a perfect match for her expression of icy calm. He recognized her instantly, even though he hadn't seen or spoken to her in years. _Not since she left their hometown. _Diana smiled.

"Look at you," she said brightly, but her eyes were full of sorrow. No doubt, she had heard his outburst. She gave him a hug. "All grown up." She turned her glance to Terri, her expression puzzled for only a moment, before a look of recognition caused her to smile. She embraced Terri as well. "Hello, Terri. It's good to finally see you both, but I'd rather hoped it wouldn't be here, of all places."

When they first met, she had left the impression of being cold, and unfriendly. _Little brothers seldom like their sister's friends_, he mused. It had taken Bobby a long time to like her at all. She had never allowed her feelings to show, and deliberately kept her emotional distance. Although Sheila had been her friend for years before they ever came here, he had never understood why Sheila liked her. They had been polar opposites in almost every way. Their time in the Realm had changed his opinion of her greatly. For five years, his sister's presence and their dependence on each other had softened her bit by bit. He was glad to see that Diana hadn't lost that in the time since.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," Eric said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he grinned, extending a hand. "What has it been, at least five years?" He looked decidedly uncomfortable. He was trying to gloss over Bobby's rage as quickly as could be managed, and not aggravate him further.

_He was actually trying to be considerate?_

"Yeah, it has, Eric."

Eric shrugged. "It seems to me we have bigger problems at the moment," he said, "We are back in 'Wackyland'. If you hadn't been...shouting," Eric paused, "We never would have found you. You can be heard for quite the distance. Your voice _still_ carries."

"I'll say," someone added. They all turned to the newcomer. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair, dressed in studded leather and green hose. He looked exhausted.

"Hank!" they all said at once.

They all told similar stories. Diana had just returned home from a training session with her newest Olympic protégé, when the vortex had appeared from nowhere. Eric had been flying home on his private jet when he was snatched away at ten thousand feet. Hank had finally gotten some time off from fighting fires, and was spending it at a quiet cabin on the lake.

As near as they could tell, they were all taken at precisely the same time, on the same day. They had arrived here only a few minutes before they heard him shouting. No one had their magical weapons with them.

"Well, there is no point in standing around here. We are in the middle of nowhere, with no supplies, or weapons. If Dungeon Master wants to find us, I don't think he will have any trouble," Hank said quickly.

Bobby kept his expression neutral at the mention of their former guide. Hank stooped down examining the shadow of a rock. After a moment, he seemed satisfied, picked a direction, and started walking. The others shrugged, and fell in behind him. There was nothing else they could do.

"Gee, this is familiar," Eric quipped, waving an arm negligently at Hank's back. "He leads and we follow, off into insanity."

Bobby was surprised how fast they fell back into an old familiar pattern. A small part of him was glad to see his friends again, even here, but it only made the absence of Presto and the loss of his sister all the more acute. Focusing on his wife, he pushed the pain from his mind by reminding himself that she needed him.

They spent most of the day headed north, or what Hank admitted, was what he _thought _was north. "With four suns, it's impossible to be sure," he commented.

"Why north?" Eric asked.

"Because that's the way we went last time we were here."

After the first hour had passed, Eric was complaining constantly, muttering under his breath. Diana rolled her eyes, and glanced over at Bobby, as if to say, _'Some things never change.'_

"Why don't we wait until near dark to walk, instead of during the day?" Eric grumbled, starting on a fresh topic, "It's hot out here, Hank."

"It's not that hot, Eric. You've spent too many years in an air conditioned office. This isn't the Sahara. Besides," Hank's tone became pointed, "We don't even have a thing we can use as a torch. I don't think you want to stumble around in the dark and fall over the edge of a ravine. If you care to try, be my guest. Maybe you'll only break a leg."

Diana grinned. "Hopefully, not that thick head."

Eric grimaced at her, and fell silent. They trudged on, and Bobby's mind began to wander.

They had always assumed that when they returned home that they would stick together. After they returned, they soon found excuses not to gather, but Bobby knew the truth. Presto's absence was a great blow to them. They all missed his jokes, and blundering attempts at magic tricks, but it was Sheila's death that literally had torn the heart out of their group.

She was the one who knew everyone, who settled disputes, cheered everyone up, and who kept them together. Hank was her boyfriend. Diana was her best friend. Presto was the nerd, orphan, and social outcast she "adopted". When she had taken Presto into their group, she automatically included his friend, Eric. When Bobby was finally old enough to tag along, he was even included as well, but without the rancor of an older sister forced to watch her little brother. Her absence had only reminded each other of what getting home had cost them. He knew Sheila had privately resented the fact that the others went out of their way to protect her, but he wondered if his sister had known how much she had meant to each of them, how _necessary_ her presence had always been.

Even gone, it was Sheila who had brought them all together for what Bobby assumed then would be the last time. When she was at last declared legally dead, instead of simply missing, they gathered at a small memorial service. Everyone felt the same. Sheila wasn't there, regardless of the small granite headstone engraved with a rose and bearing the name "Sheila Elisabeth Rowen". No one said it, but he knew. None of them could truly say goodbye. He hadn't seen them all together since.

By that time, life's demands and the price of dreams had scattered them to the wind. Bobby later became a lawyer, and married Terri, who taught special education. They had moved to the city. He had heard from the others occasionally: a note here, a phone call there, sometimes a card on the holidays. What was left of their close friendships had faded.

Hank tried a number of things, and eventually became a firefighter. Diana had followed her dream to the Olympics. She took the gold, and then retired to train the next generation. Eric had tried very hard to be free of his family's shadow, but in the end, had taken over running his father's company.

Ironically, it was only Eric, the one who Bobby had liked the least, who attended his wedding, and was the only one who even tried to keep in touch. Even so, he hadn't seen Eric in person for years.

It stuck him then, that each of them had been perfectly suited to the roles the Dungeon Master had given them all those years ago. Perhaps better at them then their own "real" lives. Hank knew how to use a bow with amazing accuracy, and could survive off the land better than any of them. He was a "ranger", literally. Eric complained a lot, but when it really mattered, when push came to shove, he had courage, as a "cavalier" - taking charge during the times that Hank had been absent. Diana was an "acrobat", in the every sense of the word. Presto had lived and breathed magic, and if the last time Bobby saw him was a fair guess, he was a true "magician".

He had to admit that being a called a "barbarian" suited him. Finesse wasn't a strong suit of his, leading to the comment many times over that his being a "lawyer" was a ridiculous contradiction. Although he had learned some patience over the years, his temper still got him into trouble, and he was always charging off recklessly to save someone or something without thinking twice. Ironically, that is what made him move from the city to a sleepy town. He was so busy trying to save the world, he wasn't spending enough time with Terri and Anna.

Sheila was the only one that never seemed to fit the role she had been given. Almost immediately, he regretted the thought, but it was true. The Sheila he remembered had been too honest, too gentle, and by far, too _caring,_ to be a "thief".

She had never stolen anything.

Beyond christening her with the name "Thief" when he gave her her Cloak, Dungeon Master had never called her "Thief" again - ever. He had always called the others, including Bobby himself, by their assumed titles. Only once, he called Diana by name, just after her love Kosar had died, to comfort her loss. Then he realized, that not only had Dungeon Master, but even Venger had always referred to his sister exclusively by her true name. He wondered why.

_Strange. _He had never remembered or even noticed that fact until now.

Terri had never been one of the Dungeon Master's pupils, but she was here now. She had been here in the Realm once before, when they had first met. She had been pulled in through the Dungeons and Dragons ride, the same as they all had. But things was different then. She hadn't been "costumed" as he, Sheila, and his friends had been. She had arrived that first time, wearing the very same jeans and blouse she had worn back home. Ironically, they had gotten her home a few scant days later. Fate or whatever being had brought her here then had never intended her to stay. But in those few days, Bobby had fallen in love with her, and had been every day of his life since. Obviously, this time something had changed, and she was now included in their group. He swallowed.

_Because she had married him? Because she had replaced Sheila?_

She was still upset. He grasped her hand and held it.

They continued walking without incident until almost sunset, when they decided to wait out the night beside a rock outcropping. Whether it was because he was lost in thought and missed something important, whether they were tired, or they had grown careless since they were last in the Realm, Bobby never knew. But they didn't spot anyone or see the men coming before they were surrounded.

There were at least ten of them. The men simply appeared out of the twilight, fully armed with swords and crossbows, wearing light chainmail shirts that had been sewn to the layers of worn and slashed padding that had been used to muffle the noise. Their faces were hidden in deep hooded cloaks, but their weapons conveyed their intentions clearly.

Bobby and the others were captives.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Hank demanded.

They didn't answer, but simply stood their ground, well out of reach. Finally, one of them reached into a pouch at his belt, and drew out a small glass-like sphere. He held up one hand, gesturing to wait, moving slowly as not to alarm them further. He cupped it in his hands, and blew on it softly. It began to glow, increasing in brightness until they had to squint away from its light. He placed it in one palm, and then reached with the other to pull back his hood.

"_Presto!"_ Diana exclaimed both in joy and relief.

"No." he said stated flatly. "My name is Duncan Preston." His voice was deeper, more graveled than the friend they remembered. "Presto was my grandfather's father."

They stared back at him, trying to comprehend his statement. Although he had Presto's lanky frame, he wasn't their friend. They could see their friend's face in his features, but his were harsher, more defined, even gaunt. His blue eyes were cold as ice, and his expression was bitter. This man was younger than they, perhaps twenty five, but had lived a hard life. There was a long, badly healed scar under his left eye that ran the length of his face down to his jawline. His hair was a deep red, and unlike Presto's unruly brown, his was cropped short. When he smiled at them, it looked forced, as if he were more accustomed to grimacing at what life offered him.

"I know who you are. Your arrival has been expected," he said again in the same flat tone. "You will not be harmed tonight, unless, of course, you try to harm us." He motioned to his companions, and they lowered their weapons.

_How much time had passed here in the Realm?_

Bobby was still trying to stomach Duncan's first comments when Eric piped up.

"Yeah? Who is expecting us?" Eric demanded sanctimoniously.

"Dungeon Master," he said. His cold stare bored right into Eric. The Cavalier involuntarily backed away a step.

"Dungeon Master can just 'pop in' when and where he likes. Why didn't he come himself?" Diana asked quietly.

"He cannot," he said, turning his gaze to Diana. The ice in his eyes melted a little, and he looked away. "He is dying."

There was a long pause. Hank finally spoke.

"Are you going to take us to him?" Hank asked, his voice as completely empty of feeling as Duncan's own. Duncan's expression seemed to approve as he gazed at the tall Ranger.

"No," he answered. "But I will take you to meet someone who can, his last student." His tone made it clear, that it wasn't a choice. "Rest now. We leave at first light."

* * *

Duncan led the way with three of his men while the others were spread out to the sides and rear. Bobby and his friends discussed the situation while they traveled, but none of them had any ideas. Their "escorts" were unwilling to add anything, and remained silent.

The few responses they managed from Duncan's men were stilted and heavily accented, as if they were unused to speaking or the words were unfamiliar. If at all possible, they deferred any questions to Duncan at the first opportunity that presented itself. When they did answer directly, they said only what was required, nothing more, regardless of how much they were prompted.

They weren't rude. They went to great lengths, treating Bobby and his friends with exaggerated courtesy, as if they were guests. It was obvious that they weren't speaking their own language. On the rare occasion that they spoke among themselves, their speech was familiar, but Bobby couldn't place it.

Neither Duncan or his men ever seemed to sleep much at all. There were constantly alert, as if they were expecting trouble. Five of them were always awake at any one time, and all of them were constantly watching their surroundings. Duncan himself said nothing to alarm Bobby or the others. He never gave any indication that there was an actual threat. His demeanor remained completely indifferent to his men's fear.

After the first few days, Bobby wrote them off as being paranoid, but the tension had already began to wear on everyone's nerves.

The entire time that they traveled, Bobby felt like he and the others were being studied by Duncan. He found the experience unpleasant. Something about him just didn't feel right. The man wasn't hostile, but he wasn't friendly either. During the journey, he only had one real conversation with them. He approached Bobby one night after they had settled in.

"Is it true that you used to carry a magical club that could shatter the ground?" he asked abruptly.

Bobby considered not answering him, but leaving the question in silence. Bobby's initial reaction to Duncan had been one of trust, because of Presto, but his dislike of the man's attitude overcame any leniency at seeing his childhood friend in Duncan's battered face. Any trust he might have had quickly vanished with the man's apparent unconcern.

"Yes," Bobby said finally. Duncan seemed to take his response as an invitation to continue.

"So they were not just spinning a tales. I have often wondered how much was true, and what was falsehood," he said.

Bobby decided to take the opening. "Why are are they so nervous?"

Duncan shrugged. "The terrain reminds them of their homeland, Kadish. The wastes of Kadish are very hostile, and only those who remain alert live for very long. They keep expecting threats from creatures that aren't there."

_Kadish._ Now he knew why their language sounded familiar. _Rahmoud. _ He had been a wanderer from Kadish who had sheltered them for several days after Sheila and the others had rescued Bobby and Rahmoud's daughter, Ayisha, from the realm of the Nightwalker.

Bobby shuddered. Everywhere he went in this world, someone was determined to bring back memories he would rather leave buried in the past. Still, the days they spent in Rahmoud's company had been one of the few pleasant times he could remember.

"You're Presto's great-grandson?"

"Yes," Duncan answered. He seemed to tell that Bobby was not satisfied with that. "My family is dead."

At that, Bobby looked up. Duncan noticed, and his next question was pointed.

"Yours as well?" he asked.

"The only ones left are my wife and daughter." Duncan glanced at Terri, and Bobby nodded. "Who told you these stories anyway? Presto?"

"No. Presto left us after the death of his wife, Varla, long before I was born," Duncan said. A touch of anger crept into his voice. "We never saw him again."

"Why?"

"No one knows for sure. If you find him, _you _can ask him," he said sourly. "Perhaps you do not know, but you and the others are the most famous of the Dungeon Master's students. Bards have been singing your stories for over one hundred years," he said.

_Over one hundred years? Damn!_

"Have you ever met Dungeon Master's student?" Terri asked quickly in a small voice. Her question was so unexpected that even their guide was taken aback for a moment, and Bobby had to keep a smirk off his face.

Duncan looked at Terri, and his expression became unreadable. "In a way. Many years ago, when I was a boy, she would visit my parents from time to time."

"What was she like?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. Duncan shrugged at Terri's puzzlement. "I never knew her name or saw her face. She would always come at night. She was never welcome in our home, and when she came, I was promptly sent elsewhere, well out of earshot. I was never allowed to speak with her."

"Where are you taking us?" Hank demanded.

"I told you already," Duncan answered patiently.

"No, you told us why, not where."

"The valley of Morivan."

Hank shook his head.

"I did not think an answer would do you any good, and I was right. I am simply doing what was asked of me. If you do not want to go there, then go."

He stood aside. Hank hesitated. Bobby could see the reason. There was a dangerous look in Duncan's eyes, as if he was daring Hank to try to walk away. The consequences would be unpleasant. The two locked eyes for a moment, and then to Bobby's surprise, Hank backed down.

"You understand. This will probably be your only chance to find her. We both know that you have no choice. I do not care if you trust me or not. I told you would not be harmed. I give you my oath - on the graves of my family, Ranger. For their memory's sake, you and your friends have nothing to fear from me while we are on this journey."

Hank nodded and walked away without another word. Bobby then had the distinct impression that Duncan had been fishing. _But for what?_

Nine days after they had arrived in the Realm, they had left the wasteland behind, descending down into a series of fertile valleys. The lush green was a welcome change from bare rock, and a small creek allowed them to wash off their journey. That evening, Duncan told them that they would reach their destination sometime tomorrow before noon.

_He and Terri had stood on the stairs leading up to the portal. At the very edge of the portal, Bobby stopped. The others kept Venger distracted._

"_We have to wait for the others!" she shouted._

"_You're going home, Terri. We're not. We've gotta stop this place from trapping anyone else."_

_Her face was stricken, her blue eyes were staring at him._

"_I'm not going without you!" she cried tearfully. She meant it._

"_Sorry, Terri," he said, his own voice breaking._

Terri nudged him awake. He gazed up at his wife, and smiled. How he loved her! She normally kept her long dark hair bound, but now it was free to fall about her shoulders. It framed her lovely face, accentuating her high cheekbones, and drawing even more attention to her startlingly bright blue eyes. Her soft lips were compressed in an expression of concern.

"Just a dream," he said. He reached forward and kissed her.

"I love you," she whispered in return. She smiled then, but it did nothing to banish the weariness and the worry that now constantly clouded her face.

They were exhausted. Duncan had quickened his pace the last few days, and pushed them unmercifully to get here. When asked why, rather than his typically cold response, he actually sounded annoyed.

"If we don't arrive on time, everyone will leave," he answered cryptically. He didn't say who "everyone" was, and it was the first and only mention he ever made about a schedule.

By morning the next day, they had arrived at a valley that was a deep, almost perfectly round bowl with mixture of oak, birch, and evergreens blanketing the slopes. In the center of the valley, the ruins of stone buildings in a clearing were clearly visible from their higher position.

"There," Duncan said, pointing directly at the ruins. "We can find his last student there."

He turned, then spoke to the others in their own language. One of them nodded, and within moments they vanished silently into the trees. Hank raised an eyebrow.

"The others are not...invited. We should reach the ruins just after noon if you do not waste more time." Without waiting for a response, he started down the slope.

It took them until after noon to reach the ruins, as Duncan had predicted. The valley walls were steep, and they had to slow their pace to avoid injury by tripping on the steep incline or the heavily interwoven tree roots that were everywhere. The entire time, they felt as if they were being watched, but no one appeared or challenged their progress.

Duncan lead them through the ruins. Bobby shuddered. The ruins were made from different stone, but the remains of the buildings were hauntingly familiar. Somehow, Bobby was sure of it. Whoever had built this place had left other ruins that had haunted his nightmares for the last twenty five years.

What was left had been masoned from white stone. The crumbling walls gave the impression of worn bones jutting from the earth, and although the day was sunny and warm, the air felt oppressive, even chilled. It felt as if the walls had eyes and watched their every move. Something did not want them here, and was actively angered at their presence. This place was a tomb. It belonged to the dust and the memories of the dead. They were not welcome, merely tolerated for the moment, and only while the suns held sway in the sky above.

They continued in the silence they had become accustomed to during the journey, until they reached a central building that was somehow still intact.

"This place has been neutral ground for centuries. Magic is said to have destroyed the settlement here, leaving only this one building. It is inadvisable to use magic or weapons here. The beings that dwell in this valley do not like either, and will kill anyone who disturbs them. His student will be here soon. If you want to find her, you must go in and wait with the others," he said, "Remember, all who enter are under a guarantee of truce. Anyone who breaks that truce, and disturbs _them, _that life is forfeit."

Duncan entered without hesitation.

After Hank glanced at Bobby and the others, they all nodded. There was nothing to do now, but go in.

* * *

The silence was broken the moment they crossed the threshold. Where it had been utterly quiet and dark one instant, the moment they stepped inside, they were assaulted with warm torchlight, and a cacophony of voices, all speaking at once.

Eric let his eyes adjust to the light. The interior was simply one large room. There were benches carved from the same stone as the building itself, placed at intervals around the perimeter of the rectangular room. Sconces for the torches were similarly placed to conveniently light the entire area. In the center of the room there were four supporting columns surrounding a raised dais in the center.

The room was full of people. The crowd was a madcap profusion of different people of all colors, sizes, shapes, and modes of dress. Many were covered in the finest satins and silks. Others were in dressed simply in dyed linen. All of them were uneasy.

Some sat quietly, carefully examining the appearance of Bobby and his friends with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Most ignored them completely, continuing on with their own conversations. Some were easy to understand, but others were conducted in a dozen languages none of them knew. It never lessened below a roar. The tone of the conversations were worried. Some were angry.

Only a small percentage of the people gathered here were not dressed to indicate their obvious social status. Eric watched as Duncan looked at the entire assemblage with obvious distaste. He agreed. Eric himself had found the world of the wealthy, and concerns they valued to be rather shallow.

Duncan walked over to an oddly empty corner. An inky dark shape detached itself from the wall. Eric stiffened, and watched as the others tensed up. He could hear Bobby's knuckles crack as the giant balled his hands up into fists. Thankfully, Terri held his arm.

_Shadow Demon._

"Good. You have brought them, and on time. Your reputation does not exaggerate," it said.

"As promised," Duncan answered, "Now, where is my pay?"

The creature handed him a pouch. Duncan opened it, and poured a small portion of the contents into a palm. _Diamonds. _Duncan put them back into the pouch, and tucked it away.

Bobby snarled at him.

"You work for _him_? I thought you said Dungeon Master sent you!"

"I work for whomever pays me. The world is harsh," he said mildly, in response to their betrayed expressions. "No, my large friend. I said Dungeon Master was _expecting _you, and he is. _Assuming _he still lives, of course. You _assumed_ I was working for Dungeon Master."

"I am not your friend!" Bobby growled.

"Pity, I rather like all of you. But if it makes you feel any better, I did not lie to you at all. You will find his last student here. I have already been told she entered the valley from the east this morning. Of course, convincing her to help you might be a challenge. I hear they are not on speaking terms. Remember what I told you. If you attack me or anyone else, you, your friends, and likely a number of these pompous fools will not leave here alive._"_

Then he looked over at Shadow Demon. "Well, announce my companions properly, you worthless lackey. The others are waiting to find out who they are."

He grinned at Bobby as Shadow Demon's expression went from being smug to anger at the jibe. Then Duncan deliberately turned his back on Bobby, and disappeared into the crowd.

Shadow Demon looked especially annoyed to be giving them this courtesy. Conversation died to a low hum as Shadow Demon motioned them to the dais.

"The Heroes of the Realm, Pupils of Dungeon Master: The Ranger, The Acrobat, The Cavalier, and The Barbarian, accompanied by his lady."

At this announcement, conversation remained quiet, but the undertone was less frantic. There was a sense of awe, as the crowd looked at them.

Eric watched as Bobby's eyes became wild. Diana stepped in front of Bobby, blocking his movement forward as _he_ approached.

He towered over all of them, including Bobby, and his very presence was still unsettling. The man was huge, but his form was anything but pleasant. He wore a red and black robe and a helmet with only one horn. Large black wings resembling a bat's were folded about his shoulders as if he used them for a cloak. His face was still ghostly pale. He had a regal mien, as if he were a magistrate or prince, stepping forward to pronounce his judgment to those upon the dais. When he stopped, he smiled cruelly at them in greeting, revealing fangs_._

_Venger._

"Greetings, young ones. We meet again," His voice still had a particular reverberation. He glanced at Bobby casually, but his tone was angry. "Stay your wrath, Barbarian! This is neither the time nor the place for us to resume our...entertainment. That will come in the fullness of time."

Diana shook her head at Bobby. "He's right, Bobby. Not here, not now." Diana stood between Venger and Bobby, forcing them apart. Bobby looked over at Hank. The Ranger's face was twisted, and his eyes were burning with hate, but he shook his head slowly. Eric braced himself for Bobby's towering rage. As if anything from Hank would do any good. If Bobby made up his mind to fight with Venger here, there was no way that all of them together could stop Bobby. _You might as well try to stop an avalanche already in motion._

"Listen," Diana said firmly, as she locked eyes with Bobby and refused to back down. "I how you feel about _him." S_he spat the word as if it were the worst curse she could manage. "But if you two fight here, others will suffer for it."

Bobby hesitated for only a moment, before he took a step forward again.

"Sheila loved you," Terri said quietly, "She wouldn't have wanted this."

Venger smiled viciously, as if he was twisting a knife in Bobby's vitals. The mocking laughter in his eyes was daring the Barbarian to try something, anything, but Terri's voice and the mention of his sister's name seemed to hit Bobby with the force of a blow. He recoiled, then glared at his wife in a expression of betrayal. He stopped himself only with supreme effort, then turned around, and stormed off into a far corner, the crowd parting rapidly to let him pass. He shook away Terri's attempts to calm him, ignoring her pleas as she trailed behind in his wake.

Eric felt as angry as Bobby. When Hank had told him that Sheila was dead, he had stood there in stunned silence. She had always been a good friend, regardless of all the times he tormented her. He had given her five years of hell, and then never taken the time to apologize. He still felt guilty about how badly he had treated her, even after all of this time. He let anger from that into his voice.

"What do you want, you bastard? If you have something to say, then say it, and then get the hell out of here."

"I have what I wanted. All of those invited have arrived, but have yet to join us," Venger stated mildly. "Until then, I shall wait, and so shall you."

Over the course of the day, others continued to enter the chamber. Eric didn't recognize any of them. One thing was certain. They all detested Venger with various degrees of loathing and hatred. Some bordered on violence. Shadow Demon announced each of them in turn, by name and position, others by title or rank.

The entire time was nervewracking. _What the hell are we doing here, and what is the point of all this?_

Try as he might, he couldn't fathom why any group of reasonable, or unreasonable people for that matter, would gather to meet each other here. If what Duncan said was true, and this was neutral ground, even to Venger, then the location was logical enough, but why bother? _What was the purpose of a meeting here?_

Eric didn't like situations that didn't add up, and this one certainly annoyed him.

Diana joined him, shaking her head.

"No one would even speak to me," she said. "Apparently, arriving in Duncan's company didn't leave us in good standing with these people. Everyone seems to know who he works for." She paused. "Is he going to be all right?"

Eric looked in the direction of Diana's gaze.

"I don't know," he admitted.

Bobby remained isolated on the far side of the room, shunning even the company of his wife. He wouldn't speak to her or to any of the others. He simply stared off into space, with an strangely empty gaze that was even more terrifying to his friends than his anger. He didn't acknowledge anyone, even the archmage.

Venger himself looked entirely unconcerned as the room filled with his enemies. Eric wasn't surprised. If Dungeon Master was truly dying, there was very little in his way. Venger had even deliberately tried to taunt Bobby into breaking the truce that existed here. Obviously, he did not care about what the result might have been.

Hours later, there weren't any more new arrivals. After a brief consultation with his underling, Venger stood on the unoccupied dais.

"Very well, then." Venger boomed grandly. "I give you all this chance to surrender. Do you yield?"

Eric watched as about two thirds of the delegates stepped forward in varying gestures of obeisance and bowed to Venger. They exited the room one by one, to the grumbling of the remainder.

"This is your last chance," he told the rest. He included all of them, but his attention was directed at Eric and the others.

No one else stepped forward.

"So be it, fools!" he thundered, exiting the room with Shadow Demon in tow.

The room became a riot. There were arguments, and shouting. Occasionally, someone pointed in their direction, but no one approached them. Duncan strode out of the crowd.

"The Realm is not what it once was, is it? Dungeon Master's name no longer opens doors for you, does it?" he asked mockingly. "Congratulations, _heroes._" he said, laughing. "Now you see. Despite all that you ever did for them, they still do not trust you. They do not believe you are who Shadow Demon said you are. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter, and that is probably just as well. Some might chase you down after you leave the valley, and burn you alive for practicing magic. After all, you were last here over one hundred years ago. You should be long dead."

"That's what happened to your family," Terri's voice was quiet, and full of sympathy. It was a statement, not a question. "That's why you hate Presto so much."

"How did you know that?" Duncan's sneer disappeared, and he looked at her angrily, his eyes narrowing, "So... you _can _use magic. Stay out of my head, witch." His tone was dangerous, and he stepped forward.

Bobby was suddenly there, interposing himself between Duncan and his wife.

"Leave her alone," he said. They stared at each other for a moment, before Duncan withdrew.

"If I were you, I would leave soon, before dark." Duncan turned, and walked out of the meeting place.

"I'm sorry, Terri," he said quietly, looking at the floor. "You were right. Sheila wouldn't have wanted anyone to get hurt."

Terri pulled him close. "It's all right," she said softly.

"How did you know that?" Eric asked her, "About Duncan."

"I dreamed it last night," she answered.

Bobby was puzzled. "I thought you didn't dream about the future anymore."

"I didn't. It was the past. It was _horrible_." Eric watched as she shook visibly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bobby asked her.

"I thought it was just a bad dream."

As the day waned, the room was cleared. Everyone was leaving. Duncan left them behind. Whoever they had come to meet had either left without greeting them, or not come at all.

* * *

He sensed Shadow Demon long before the wretched creature came up behind him. Duncan could always tell when it was nearby, and he never allowed it a moment of superiority, much to its annoyance.

"Your strategy did not work. Neither came. What does your master want now?" Duncan asked quietly without turning, before Shadow Demon could speak. It tossed another bag of gemstones at his feet.

"He wants you and your men to follow them. Track them down. If they don't have their weapons as you say..."

"Bring them to you?"

"No. He wants no mistakes. They have interfered in his affairs far too often in the past if they are given any quarter. _Kill them._ Bring back their heads. If you have their weapons, he will triple your price."

He thought of the Barbarian's woman. Her strange blue eyes seemed to look right through him. She had magic, as had Presto. She offered him pity. He did not want it or need it. He did not hate them anymore, but because of them, and the legacy of his forefather, his family was dead. He had no obligations to any of them. His expression became hard. He owed them nothing, and they owed him everything.

"And if they are dead, Dungeon Master or his agents might decide to take revenge on me for my trouble. I want triple now, the same upon return, and triple that again if they do have their weapons."

There was a slight pause. He expected the creature to leave, or worse, to try haggling.

"Agreed," it said. "The remainder of your payment will be delivered by sunrise." Apparently, his excessive demands had been anticipated, and Venger really wanted them dead, regardless of the cost.

"Very well."

He waited until the skulking shadow was gone before he picked up the pouch.

They had left the valley a few hours ago, headed east. They would have to stop to fashion weapons and hunt for food. They had not eaten most of that day, he was certain. At the pace they were probably going to go, he could have them in little more than a week. He would have to wait a few days for the rendezvous with his men, but it could not be helped. Things had not gone as planned. Duncan walked back toward the edge of the valley quickly. It was almost twilight, and the creatures that actually lived here were every bit as unwelcoming as he had told them, especially at night.

Duncan didn't see the slender form that detached itself noiselessly from the shadows. It paused, glancing in his direction before turning east and swiftly disappearing into the trees.


	3. A Deadly Encounter

Chapter Three: **A Deadly Encounter**

They had quickly sheltered under a cluster of trees a short distance from the trail when the rain started to come down in sheets, covering the world in steadfast gray haze of water that allowed them to see a only short distance clearly. Thunder still rumbled overhead, but there was no lightning as the day wore on. They hunkered down as the weather drenched everything and battered their broken spirits. Bobby's thoughts had turned as increasingly bleak as the weather.

Bobby didn't like the idea of following the trail after Duncan's comments about possibly being chased down and burned alive, but Hank was right. They didn't have any supplies beyond what they could scavenge for themselves, so following the trail was the only certain way to eventually run across civilization. From what little they did learn from the people at the meeting, there was a village nearby, and they could barter or work for what they needed.

Someone might know something about Dungeon Master. Bobby admitted it was a very slim chance, but it was all they had to go on. At least, he felt better with the club he had made from a stout tree limb. He wished he had his old club right now.

The situation seemed to be rapidly getting worse with each passing day. Not only were they once again trapped in the Realm, with no clear idea of how to get home, but they had lost their only chance to make sense of their predicament. Their former mentor had not appeared. He was dying, and wanted to meet them, but with each day, it became a certainty that they would arrive too late, or not find him at all. They had failed to meet Dungeon Master's student, and their one clear hope for some form of immediate guidance was lost.

Even the people at the meeting in the valley were disconsolate. It was as if the hope and defiance had just drained out of them. They weren't willing to give up, but the haunted looks they had seen on many of the faces of those men and women clearly stated that they expected an inevitable defeat. They had fallen on each other with bickering and suspicion instantly after Venger had left. None of them believed Bobby or his friends when they had tried to talk to them. The response was fearful, cold, candid, often sarcastic.

"_Show me your magical Weapons, and then I might believe you."_

Things were even worse off now than they were when Bobby and the others were just kids. They didn't have their magical weapons, or the Dungeon Master's timely advice to help them. Bobby never would have admitted it before, but the old man's appearances gave him a form of hope that he sorely missed at this moment. At least, they knew then where they were going and what had to be done. Right now, despair seemed overwhelming.

They had found their own way home the first time, but it had taken them five years. More than two of those were spent solely searching on their own, without the Dungeon Master's direct help or interference, although Bobby suspected the old man was actually watching after them from time to time. The thought of going through another five years of false starts and dead ends loomed over him like a prison sentence. He had lost his childhood and Sheila to this world, and now, years later, he was truly afraid. _What would it cost this time, and would the price be too high?_ There was no sense of hope or even direction.

He kept his feelings to himself as he held his wife close. Terri had hardly slept in three days, and when she did, she had nightmares that forced her awake, screaming in terror. She leaned against him now, her chest rising and falling slowly. She was so exhausted, that sheltered by him under the trees, even the downpour didn't bother her. He gently brushed her hair away from her face. In spite of everything, she looked so peaceful.

This Realm had taken so much from him, but he was forced to admit it had given back to him as well. He had gained a wider perspective, that only the harsh realities of life could provide. He took hope from that, and from his wife's sleeping face. He had met Terri here, and they had fallen in love, so long ago. Without the Realm, they might have never met. Now, they had a daughter who needed them, somewhere far away from here. He loved them, and refused to give up. He didn't know how, but he knew what he had to do.

_Terri. Anna... Somehow, we will be a family again, soon. I promise._

Hank was keeping watch when he suddenly froze, and motioned quickly, drawing them deeper into the wood, ducking out of sight behind the nearest trees. Bobby woke Terri, and they joined the others.

Horses.

Someone had followed them, after all. When Bobby saw them, his grip tightened on his club and his knuckles were white.

They were five men, dressed in leather, with well cared for, bright steel blades within easy reach. Their hair had been completely shaven, and their scalps were elaborately tattooed with designs, scrawled into their skin in black ink. They didn't seem to be Duncan's men, but their movements, speech, and weapons suggested they were more than just simple travelers or bandits. One of them dismounted and started examining the ground.

Bobby watched as the tracker nodded to the others, and they spread out, searching. There was no way he could track them in this downpour. The man ran his fingers through the mud, digging furrows. He closed his eyes. Bobby held his breath. After a few moments, the tracker's eyes popped open and he turned directly toward their hiding place. He locked eyes directly with Bobby, and shouted to his companions.

The man's eyes were entirely black.

They all drew their weapons.

_Oh, hell!_

Bobby and his friends ran deeper into the forest, the trees scattering them apart.

In a span of heartbeats, Bobby lost sight of the others, but grasped Terri's hand, pulling her along as fast as they could go. He heard her cry out, and felt her pull on his arm as she stumbled. He jerked her to her feet, and started forward again. Terri tried to put weight on her left leg, but she stumbled again, gasping in pain. She couldn't walk on her ankle. He passed her his club, scooped her up, and ran. He was vaguely aware of a man running toward him with a sword. He turned left, doubling his pace.

Suddenly, Diana was there, swinging a long broken off tree limb as if it were her old staff. She blocked the blow that would have opened Bobby's back, and then planted the end of the limb squarely in the man's stomach, doubling him over. With her trademark dexterity, she caught the released sword in midair, and tossed it toward Eric. Diana didn't slow, but spun for momentum. The second impact struck with a loud crack that spun the man completely over in midair before he hit the ground on his back.

Bobby heard the clang of metal against metal. His mind barely had time to register what he was seeing. Eric was swinging the recovered weapon, blocking sword blows, as he and his opponent slashed at each other. Hank was completely on the defensive, dodging though trees as two more were chasing him, hacking at trees as they attempted to catch the ranger. Diana moved forward to help Eric.

"Help Hank!" Terri yelled at Bobby. He didn't hesitate. He set her down, and dashed after his friend with his makeshift club.

Bobby caught the first one completely unaware, and swung with everything he had. The man dropped like a stone, as the club connected. The second turned toward the new threat Bobby presented. The sword barely missed, chopping off a large piece of bark from a tree where Bobby had stood a split second before. Bobby lost his footing in the wet, and slid onto his back. The swordsman pressed his advantage, knocking the club from Bobby's hands.

The man's expression was triumphant as he raised the sword in what would have been Bobby's last sight. Hank tackled him from behind, and his sword went flying. They scuffled. Several blows were exchanged, and then Hank stood up. He smiled lopsidedly, liberally covered in brown mud. He picked up the sword.

"Hurry, we have to get back to the others!"

* * *

Terri watched as Eric kept backing away. He wasn't trying to fight, so much as trying to stay alive. Diana ducked as the man kept them both at bay. The swing would have decapitated Diana if she had been a half a second slower.

There was a crackle behind her, and she turned to see last of them standing there, looking at her curiously. His expression was blank, but he stared at her with frighteningly black eyes, that had no pupil or iris. Then the moment ended, and his weapon whooshed through the air. Terri tried to get out of the way of his blade, to keep a tree between her and her assailant. His first blow gouged the tree, and he grunted as he pulled the blade free from the trunk to swing again.

Pain shot though her right arm. He grinned wildly.

Suddenly, Eric was behind him, and she watched in horror as a sword point erupted through her attacker's chest. The man's eyes widened and his expression was one of utter surprise. Then he coughed up blood before his eyes closed and he collapsed.

The last man fled from Diana, as Bobby and Hank rejoined her. Eric simply stood there. He was shaking, and staring intently at the dead man at his feet in the mud, as the rain washed away the blood in small pools in the earth. The blade in his hand was gradually being washed clean in large red drops.

* * *

He was on first watch, and the others were trying to sleep, except for Eric.

The rain had finally stopped. They found a some dry tinder for the fire, and a rocky patch to sleep on. It was hard and definitely uncomfortable, but it was better than trying to rest in the mud. Everyone was lying down, but had given up actually trying to sleep on stone. They were safe, at least for the moment, camped at the edge of the wood, but well out of sight of the road, where the fire wouldn't be easily spotted. Just the same, they kept it small, just enough to serve their needs.

Bobby watched as the flames of the campfire danced, letting his mind wander over the events of the day. They had fled the scene of the battle as fast as possible, taking the horses. Terri wasn't badly hurt. Although her right arm was cut, it wasn't deep. It was bound tightly, bandaged with remains of that sleeve from her blouse. Hank had managed to catch some animal for dinner, although Bobby wasn't sure he really wanted to know what he had eaten.

Eric still wasn't speaking, and while he responded when food was offered, the expression on his face never changed.

He had never killed anyone before.

None of them had.

Years ago, their Weapons' abilities and good fortune had spared them from ever having to seriously harm anyone. They had been in danger, certainly. But then, except for Venger and a few others, no one had ever really tried to kill them before. Bobby had been young then, just a child. For everything that happened, many times the Realm had been something of a fantastic adventure with himself invincible. The idea of one of them really dying had always seemed so abstract, so distant...until Sheila died.

Everyone had tried talking to Eric, but he simply ignored them.

Bobby doubted he could deal with it any better. For once, he truly sympathized with his sarcastic friend. He didn't know if the man he himself had brained with his club had been badly hurt, but at least he didn't have to _know_ that he had killed someone. He didn't have to carry it on his conscience. Assuming the man was alive, the worst he would have to do was walk back to where he came from.

"Eric?"

Eric didn't answer Bobby, but looked at the sheathed weapon laying nearby. Hank had quickly collected what weapons they could from the men who attacked them. After they fled and set up camp for the night, Hank had left the sword nearby, saying that regardless how Eric felt, it was too valuable to leave behind.

"You did what you had to. If you hadn't, Terri wouldn't be here," Bobby told him. "I know it doesn't mean much right now, but I'm grateful. You came to our wedding. You know how much she means to me." Bobby swallowed hard. He had come so close to losing her.

"I don't know what I'd do without her. I don't think I could..." Bobby couldn't finish the sentence.

Eric continued to stare at the weapon a few feet away.

* * *

_She was barely more than a child herself, maybe sixteen. She was covered in a fine gray dust that seemed to mute her, turning someone who would have been a very lovely young woman, into a living statue. What was once red hair was in disarray, and her soft green eyes were glazed over in pain. Her arms were battered and cut from trying to protect her face. Her cheek was bleeding. Terri's hands came to her mouth. Her side... it was horribly burned._

_Terri realized she had met her once, long ago. Her hair and eye color were different than his, her features were softer, finer; but there was no mistaking her identity. The girl was Sheila, Bobby's sister. She had taken care of Terri, comforted her, made her feel safe, when Terri was just a little girl, during those terrible days when she had first been in the Realm. Sheila had been kind, warm, and caring. And now, she was dying._

"_No." he said._

"_You two mean all the world to me. We both know you can't beat Venger alone. He is still coming. You have to leave me behind. You can't help me, not this time."_

"_I'm not leaving you!"_

"_Robert, don't you dare argue!"_

She coughed, and it was hollow sounding. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking.

"_Bobby, please..." The pile covering her legs shifted. She screamed._

"_Go. For me. " She was in terrible pain. "They can't – lose – us – both..."_

"_No," he repeated again._

"_Get him out of here, Hank."_

_Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Get him home. Take care of him ...for me..."_

Terri knew instinctively that this wasn't just a dream. Bobby had lived through this. He said she had died, but he refused to talk about what had really happened that day. Not even to her, his own wife.

Terri's heart was wrenched as Bobby screamed, and tried to reach for Sheila, even as Hank pulled the two siblings apart. Terri was aware of another presence, one that chilled her very soul. She had nightmares of him for weeks after returning home. Venger.

Finally, as the dream ended, Terri saw the look in Sheila's eyes: the pain, the fear, and finally... joy.. as Hank and Bobby disappeared into the portal. She smiled slowly, brightly, like an angel at sight of first morning sunlight and then, she closed her eyes.

"No!" Terri screamed as she bolted upright into a sitting position.

Bobby rushed over to her side. The others awoke, looked at them, and then turned over. The nightmares were becoming a regular occurrence now.

She turned to him, and pulled him close. She was shivering. She was cold and clammy, as if it were winter and she had been immersed in ice water. She could almost see her breath, as she gasped for air, hyperventilating.

_More nightmares._

Bobby didn't say anything, but just held her until her breathing slowed to normal, and her skin started to feel warm again. Feeling finally started to return to her face, and she began sobbing hysterically. She pulled him closer, clinging to him as if he were her very life. The arguments, the fears, the worries, everything coming between them, all of it, just evaporated in a instant, as he held her.

"I'm so sorry," she managed between sobs.

"What was it, Terri?"

It took some time before she could speak. After she told him, they simply sat there, holding each other. The others heard every word, but turned away to their own thoughts, and left them alone.

She thought she understood the depth of the pain his sister's death had caused him. She was wrong. Terri had thought she had understood how they all felt about Sheila, about how her death had driven this group of friends apart. Unlike Bobby, she was an only child. She had no brothers or sisters of her own, and only her adopted parents. She had very few shared losses. Until Bobby, there had been no one to be close to. She wasn't certain how she felt.

While she knew who they all were, Terri herself had known them only for a few days, over twenty years ago. Although she had been to the Realm as well, Terri had always felt excluded when Bobby spoke of them. She never had the chance to get to know them well. They were a part of Bobby's life she had barely known. After the day she had reunited with Bobby, they scattered, seldom meeting with her present. Within a year or two, almost all of them had gone their separate ways. She knew that Diana and Eric had once been a couple. But years later, although they were all invited, only Eric had come to Bobby and Terri's wedding.

Now, Eric had saved her life, and he had to live with the fact he had killed someone for her sake. Except for Bobby, no one had ever done so much, endured so much, for her.

Terri watched over Bobby's shoulder, as Eric looked at her with a curious expression on his face. Listening to them talking about Sheila had brought tears in his eyes. She mouthed the words: "Thank you", and he nodded slowly. Then he stood up straight, walked over to the discarded sword, picked it up, strapped the belt to his waist.

"I'll take watch, Terri," he said quietly, "You and Bobby can get some sleep."

* * *

Hank was restless, as he laid there with his back to the fire, staring into the dark night. Eric had saved Terri's life, and Hank was relieved, but at the same time, he was worried. If they had their old Weapons, they would have been able to fend off those men easily, without having to kill one of them.

He understood Eric's reaction perfectly. Eric lived a sheltered life, and never had to see death up close. Hank had seen people die before. As a fire fighter, it was inevitable that you would see death sooner or later, by fire, accident, or even violence. Sometimes you had to chose who to pull out of a burning building first, and in that choice someone would live, and someone else might die. If you didn't choose, both would die.

That cold logic still offered him no consolation. He knew nothing he could say to Eric would make any difference. Hank himself dealt with death by trying to forget about it and get on with the next day ahead of him. He had tried other ways for a long time, sinking deep into the bottle. That never worked either. No, he had no advice to offer. Eric would come to terms with it, or he wouldn't. It was up to him.

Terri was having nightmares about Sheila. He didn't understand why Terri would have such dreams, but he knew every detail. He wished she hadn't, not only for her sake, but because the conversation only served to remind him yet again of the day was his greatest failure. He had let his friends down that day. He had let _her_ down. He knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent her death, but that didn't matter. Her loss was something that this world wouldn't let him forget, something his heart would never forgive, and he hated himself for it.

Unequivocally.

Now, over twenty years later they were back in the Realm with no way out. _Again._

They always assumed he knew all of the answers, that he knew what to do. As long as Hank was there, things would work out. Everyone had always assumed that. The first time, he failed he lost the one person he loved the most. Now, Terri had almost died today. Hell, they all come very close to it. How long would it be before someone else died, while everyone looked up at him, as if he knew what needed to be done?

It was a responsibility he never chose. He clinched his jaw, grinding his teeth in empty fury. He didn't want it, never asked for it. He resented it, and he resented the others for foisting it on to his shoulders. What right did he have to lead his friends, to make the decisions?

He didn't have an answer. But that wasn't the worst of it.

He never told her.

She had shown him how she felt in so many small ways a thousand times over: her smile, her laugh, the way she cheered him up in his darkest moments, held him close, even the way she just looked at him, but he had dismissed it, pushed her away. She even told him outright, had practically shouted in his face. But he hadn't answered her. He had a responsibility to get them all home. He had justified it by saying if he had let her get too close, he would have frozen up. He would have been afraid to ask, or to do something that might have had to be for the sake of the others.

No, that wasn't the truth.

It had taken that day to make him finally admit what he had already known. It had already been too late to try to keep his distance. He wasn't just fond of her. It hadn't been just a childhood crush, or some turgid teenage romance.

He had loved her. Completely.

The truth was it had scared him to death.

Before he had a chance to know what that actually meant, she was gone, and all he was left with were regrets and shattered dreams a life with her that he never had.

* * *

The suns had barely peeked above the morning horizon, and what light there was was filtered though the foliage leaving the camp in a patchwork of shadows and morning twilight. Diana sat quietly, keeping watch. The fire had long burned out, but it was just as well. It wasn't cold, and if not carefully managed, the smoke could be visible for miles in daylight.

Her mood wasn't as somber as the others. The morning was bright and new, and it was hard to stay depressed. Yesterday's events had left their mark certainly, but Diana wasn't one to let them keep her from moving forward. She paused. That was perhaps her greatest weakness as well as a virtue. Her independent nature told her: go forward. When something bad happened, she just moved on, often leaving the past behind. There was always another day, a new sunrise.

But it wasn't always that easy. While there was a certain solace in the fact that she could take care of herself, that she didn't need anyone, she was constantly reminded that the people nearby needed her. Not surprisingly, she knew she really needed them too. They were more than friends, they were family. She was closer to them, than she was to her own brother. A wave of old guilt washed over her.

When they had needed her most, she had backed away. She had taken Sheila's death hard. She fled from it for almost half a year after they returned home, rather than try to help, to pull them all back together, as Sheila would have wanted. Years later, when the relationship with Eric and herself started to become serious, things hadn't gone well. His family, of course, disapproved of her. When Eric had threatened to walk away from them to be with her, she ran away again. This time, afraid that a commitment to him would mean giving up what she had wanted most: her dreams.

She sympathized with Hank on that score. They were both too independent, too stubborn, too focused, to appreciate what they truly had until it was gone. Still, life had to go on, the past was over. Things always changed, whether they liked it or not.

Diana kept thinking of what Eric had told her when she had taken over the watch four hours earlier.

He was actually wearing the weapon he had used yesterday. When Diana looked at it questioningly, he shrugged.

"_There was nothing else I could do, Diana. The simple fact of the matter is that I am the only one of us who even knows which end of a sword is which, and right now we are trying to stay alive. I never thought my father's insistence on my learning fencing or any other cultured behaviour would ever be useful," he had said ruefully. "I can either feel sorry for myself, or do what needs to be done."_

Diana had looked at him in shock. It wasn't often that Eric was straight to the point without some sarcastic remark. She had seen it from time to time. Of all of them, she knew the 'real' Eric best, hiding behind his family's wealth and prestige. So had Presto. Eric was a good man, better than many gave him credit for being. He could be honest and direct, even tender, when he chose to.

"_Are you going to be all right?"_

Diana told herself she wasn't going to ask. The answer would be obvious, but she asked him, anyway. She had to. Regardless of everything that happened between them after they had returned home, she still cared about him very much.

He paused for a moment. When he answered her, all of the false bravado and superiority was gone from his tone. He only used that voice when he spoke to her, alone, and from his heart. It was how she had knew he was telling the truth, even on the day she left him for the Olympiad, and never came back.

"_I don't know," he had said quietly, before glancing at the others to make sure they didn't overhear. "I hope so. I've tried to think of something else I might have done, rather than kill that man, but I can't."_

"_I'm sorry, Eric."_

"_I know," his voice was a whisper. "I understand now why they always say it's wrong to kill someone."_

"_I can understand that, but it - "_

"I'm sorry, but no, you can't_," he said emphatically, "and I hope you never do._ Ever. _I'm afraid that will be the least of our problems before this is all over. One thing is for sure. I won't let anything happen to you or the others, not if I can stop it. No matter what it takes. Even if it means that. Even if it means that - I have to live with blood on my hands."_

He sighed, and then started back toward the others. "I should get some sleep."

Diana had been worried about Eric, but the fact that he chose to talk to her seemed a good sign. She stood up.

Someone was coming. Diana could hear a horse knicker as it plodded toward them from the direction of the road. She quickly woke the others. Hank disappeared into the trees.

A few minutes later, he returned and signaled that there was only one person, approaching them directly.

There was no point in running further, or hiding. Whoever was following them already knew exactly where they were. They stood with weapons at the ready.


	4. Family Reunion

Chapter Four: **Family Reunion**

Bobby tensed as the intruder approached. He couldn't see who was coming, but he had his makeshift club ready. Hank indicated that he had only spotted one person. Whoever it was, there wasn't time to run.

They would fight if necessary, but who could it be?

No one knew where they were, or at least, he hoped not. Their encounter yesterday had left him worried. Someone was after them. Whoever those men had been: bandits or soldiers, they had been looking specifically for him and his friends.

Bobby couldn't prove it, but he was sure. Last night, he had replayed those scant moments before they attacked over and over in his mind, trying to figure out who they were, and how they had found them so easily. He kept seeing that tracker's strange black eyes as the man stared directly at him.

There was no way that those men could have possibly tracked them in yesterday's weather. The downpour had washed out the tracks. Hank had sworn to Bobby that he had made sure that they couldn't be followed. The Ranger wasn't paranoid, but he _was _thorough. Hank never took chances he didn't have to, not with the lives of his friends. After Bobby and Hank had discussed the tracker's strange methods, they had concluded that he had had some other means, probably magic.

_Magic._

It was the lifeblood of the world he knew as the Realm. Just the thought of it made Bobby's mind rebel against itself. He wasn't a child. There was no Santa Claus, no fairies, no Easter Bunny. The idea of real magic was something he wanted to forget. It was something that his training, the structure of his profession, tried to invalidate. He dealt in facts: cause and effect. But here, in this place, it was no fantasy, it was real. It was vast, powerful, and too dangerous to discount or ignore. He had seen its power countless times. It was fact.

Magic could kill.

_How do you defend yourself against something that seemed to have few limitations? How do you stop something that shouldn't exist, that defies everything you know?_

He prayed fervently they weren't facing that now, or they had no chance at all.

Bobby knew there was no alternative, but just waiting was making him nervous. A trickle of sweat ran slowly down into his eyes. The trees suddenly felt close, and the air stiflingly dense as he waited, shifting his grip on the club.

The young woman came into view, leading her horse. She was wearing a ragged, shabby looking dress of common homespun, dyed purple. Her face was hidden in an old blue hooded cloak, that was travelstained and more than a little frayed around the edges. She didn't seem to be carrying a weapon. Bobby relaxed a little. He couldn't see her face, but she looked like any one of the number of peasants they had encountered during their years in the Realm.

He heard Hank's voice call out, "That's far enough. Stop right there."

Hank emerged from the trees, holding his sword in front of him. His expression was stolid, but Bobby could tell that the Ranger was uncomfortable with the blade in his hands.

When she saw them, she froze in her tracks, unmoving.

"Who are you?" Hank demanded, "What do you want?"

She didn't answer, but Hank's challenge made her turn slowly to look at him. She held up her hands placatingly to indicate that she meant no harm, then she removed her hood.

Hank almost dropped his sword. Bobby's club fell from his fingers. Everyone stared in amazement: uncomprehending, unbelieving.

Bobby had experienced profound times in his life when the world seemed to stop, and every moment after was forever changed. It changed the day his childhood ended when Sheila had died. It changed again his wedding day, when he looked into Terri's eyes as he kissed his wife. It changed the day Anna was born.

The world had stopped again.

Whether by accident, chance, or some greater design, the morning suns had risen just enough to shine cheerfully through the large gaps the leafy canopy, driving away the oppressive gray gloom of the last few days. Everything seemed more alive, bathed in richer colors. The trees became vibrant, glistening with pearls of silver dew, and the leaves a dozen shades of living green, dappled in the bright yellow warmth of morning sunshine. Only the soft breeze whispering through the trees broke the silence, until the birds suddenly exploded into their waking song. All of it would be etched in his memory in every immutable detail, and he would it close to his heart, regardless of everything that ever followed after, for the rest of his life. Every sound, every sensation, all of it would be forever clear.

She stood there, looking exactly as he remembered her. The morning sunlight surrounded her, caressing her in its glow. She had always looked pale and wan in sunlight, fragile, but it turned her hair into a mane of warm autumn hues.

The sight of her was nothing less than a miracle.

Bobby blinked. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was as if the last twenty five years had been some kind of cruel joke. Like so many times, he was sure that she was going to vanish again in an instant.

"Sheila?" Hank whispered plaintively, in a lost, tortured voice filled with a desperate anguish. The sound of his broken voice brought the world back into focus.

"Hank?" Her voice was so soft that Bobby could barely hear it. Her gaze turned to Bobby instantly. He had cried out her name aloud without even realizing it.

Bobby started toward her as she stared at him. For a long moment, there was no sign that she recognized him at all.

"Bobby?" She stared up at him in questioning fear, her voice quivering.

He embraced her, and he felt her hug him back. She was crying. She wasn't a dream, she was flesh and blood. She didn't vanish, and he didn't wake up. Sheila was here.

"Bobby... I can't...breathe."

He immediately loosened his bearhug. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, begging forgiveness, as she took a deep breath.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered, tears glistening on her cheeks, her voice as comforting to him now as it had when he was small and afraid of the dark.

He was shaking, so afraid that he was dreaming and about to wake up. So many times he had dreamed of his sister. He had nightmares of her in _pain_, dying, leaving him behind: lost and alone. He always woke up, begging for that terrible day to somehow be undone, even offering his own life in exchange. He had always known it was an impossible wish. At last, he had been heard, and his heart shouted in joy.

"I love you, Bobby."

When she said those words, the same words she had always told him in the darkest moments of childhood, his iron resolve melted into nothing. He felt hot tears as they ran down his face, and he choked back a sob. There was too much to hold in completely. For an instant of eternity, there was nothing else, and no time had passed between him and his sister. They were a family again, and it was as if she had never left.

Everyone was crowded around them, but their eyes were focused on her. Eric simply stared, finally unable to say a word. Diana, whose feelings were always hidden behind a veneer of absolute confidence, was weeping freely as she embraced her childhood friend. Terri simply stood to one side, waiting. Like the others, she was crying, but she had that familiar smile on her face. Bobby pulled his wife close.

"Did you know?" he whispered.

Terri shook her head, and rested it against his shoulder. Bobby watched as Sheila gingerly returned Diana's hug, timid and uncertain.

When Sheila turned to Eric, the Cavalier back away, and Bobby heard the steely grinding slither as he drew his weapon. She quickly stepped back. She held her hands in front of her, but Eric was as hard as stone. Bobby felt his ire rise in reflex to the implied threat to his sister.

"Eric, what's wrong with you?" Diana demanded.

_What was wrong with him?_

Eric was his friend, but Bobby wasn't going to let Eric harm her, friend or not! Bobby let Terri go, and seized Eric's arm. Eric tried to shake him loose, but Bobby held him fast. Eric glared at him.

"How do we know she isn't a doppleganger or a shadow stalker?"

Everyone stopped at that instantly. Bobby looked at Eric's face, and paused. Eric was serious. Bobby had never seen Zinn's stalkers, but he had seen Venger shapeshift enough times. Bobby let go of his arm.

"You told me yourself," Eric grated harshly, "Sheila _died_! What's more likely? She somehow rose from the dead, or that _that's_ an impostor?"

Eric's statement slapped her in the face. Her expression became profoundly wounded as she looked at them. Bobby knew why. He knew her too well not to. It was the realization that her friends didn't trust her. The most necessary thing in Sheila's world was the people she loved.

She wasn't looking at Eric or the others. Even though Eric was the one with the sword, she was staring at Bobby. She had seen his own hesitation, and that hurt her the most. Her eyes were filled a cacophony of raw emotions that seemed to run amok from one to another at random, on the verge of spilling over. What they reflected wrenched his heart.

_Fear and confusion, but most of all, hurt. _She was his sister. Somehow, he was absolutely sure.

"Eric, Hank and I never actually saw her die."

"But you told us there was no way she could have survived," Eric retorted, ignoring him and looking to Hank. The Ranger didn't answer. He seemed frozen, his expression was lost, strained. His eyes were haunted. He only looked at the young woman in front of them. It was obvious that he wanted to believe that she was his lost love, somehow returned.

"I don't suppose _you_ would care to explain?" Eric demanded, directing his question toward her.

Unlike the sister Bobby remembered, Sheila didn't break down into tears, but seemed to slowly rally under Eric's verbal assault. She blinked, and steadied herself. Her jaw set, and her face became cold, expressionless, as her lips compressed into a thin line.

"It's _me_, Eric. I'm your friend."

"Prove it," he said acidly.

Her voice was laced with profound sorrow, but her expression didn't change. "Kareena...I don't know how she did it, but she healed me, saved my life."

"Kareena? Venger's sister? The blonde who tried to kill you years ago?" Eric was incredulous.

When Sheila saw the look on his face, she nodded, and her voice was heavy with guilt. "It's true...She gave her life to save mine, somehow. I was dying, and she took my place. I can't explain it any better than that. I begged her not to, but she felt that she owed me her life. I couldn't stop her, and she died."

Eric wasn't convinced. "And how could she do that? Not even Dungeon Master could heal Bobby when he was poisoned! You should know that."

"I remember!" she said irritably. "I was never so scared in my life! I stayed with him while you found the cure, the "Foot of a Yellow Dragon". I can't explain how she did it, Eric!"

"So you know how Bobby was cured. You'll have to do better than that. We aren't the only ones who knew about what happened. That doesn't prove anything. If you want to prove yourself, tell me something only Sheila would know."

"I – I don't know if I can. When I was...brought back, I lost a part of myself, Eric. It's strange." Her brows came closer together in an all too familiar way that they always did when she was concentrating. "I remember the Realm, but so much of everything else is just..._gone_."

Bobby sunk into despair, feeling like he had been kicked in the gut. _Amnesia? She didn't remember their family? No, she knows us._

"Oh, how convenient. You know who we are, but you can't remember home. _That's_ just what an impostor would say."

She looked at Eric bleakly, and for a brief moment, Bobby was afraid that his friend was right. She was an impostor, and that all of this was a lie.

"I remember a party. Someone startled you, and you tipped the cake off of the table. We laughed at you, and you looked so ridiculous, covered in chocolate frosting. I...I remember I felt awful about it, and tried to apologize, but you were impossible."

"Presto's birthday party," Diana said in amazement, "A few days before we were lost in the Realm."

"Satisfied?" Bobby demanded angrily.

"I'm sorry, Sheila," Eric said quietly as he sheathed his sword. "I had to be sure."

Bobby was angry, but when he saw the look on Eric's face, his fury waned. It was never easy for Eric to admit he was wrong or offer an apology, but this time the Cavalier's face was covered with honest regret.

"It's all right, Eric." Eric actually smiled, and she hugged him quickly.

She turned to Hank. He was standing apart from them. The Ranger's face was a mask of pure misery.

"Hank?" His anguished eyes glittered in recognition. She gently pulled him close. His tall frame shuddered at her touch.

"It is you, isn't it? Somehow, it is you."

"Yes, Hank," she said. "It's me."

"I'm sorry." Hank whispered in a wounded voice. He just kept repeating it, and wouldn't stop.

Bobby and the others watched in surprise as the Ranger's legendary, unflappable, unshakable self control simply crumbled, and he wept like a child in her arms.

"Hank, it's all right. You did what you _had_ to do, what I _asked_ you to do. It _wasn't_ your fault." Sheila held him for several minutes, before gently disengaging herself. She took in a deep, ragged breath. When she spoke, her voice was raw with barely controlled emotions. "We have to get out of here. It's not safe. A man named Duncan is following you, and he has orders from Venger to kill all of you."

At that name, Bobby's temper flared. "We'll see about that. If Duncan wants a fight, I'll give him one!"

"_Robert_, this isn't the time to go charging off!" She was suddenly angry.

The sound of her voice, the tone, convinced him of who she was, more than anything! Regardless of all that had obviously happened to her, when she was angry, she still sounded exactly like their mother. She even stood the same way, with the same expression on her face.

He wasn't a child, and Sheila didn't have to baby him! Not anymore. He'd grown up a long time ago!

He stopped. Bobby found himself reacting defensively out of old habit. He was ashamed of himself. He was _still _acting like the angry little boy who wanted to defy his smothering older sister.

Sheila wasn't really angry. He could tell. She couldn't hide her feelings from him. Not from him. He knew her too well. No, she wasn't angry. She was afraid, and he was afraid for her.

She was trying to accept that she was seeing. She was seeing them again, grown up, all adults, changed after twenty five years. Somehow, she was managing not to fall apart completely. He had seen her do it before. She would grasp for anything that could help: love, false hope, forced cheer, and on rare occasions, even anger - anything that would help her hold herself together.

In spite of her determination, it was plain to see that Sheila was foundering. She was on the edge of an emotional crash. He could see it in her eyes.

As a boy, he had given her so much difficulty, but things weren't that simple anymore. He was a husband and a father. His wife and daughter had changed him, in countless ways that he couldn't number. He had learned fear. He had a family now, and with that love came the fear of losing them. He had nearly lost Terri and Anna once, because he refused to let go.

He'd lost Sheila once already. _Not again. Never again._

Duncan could wait, for now.

He had seen her face down countless enemies in the Realm. The younger Bobby might have ignored his sister's fears, but they had spent five long years together in the Realm. He had seen firsthand that his sister was timid sometimes, but Sheila definitely _wasn't_ a coward.

_Duncan frightened her. She knew him?_

"I don't want to fight, but you're suggesting we just run away? It won't solve the problem." he said, "He'll just keep following us."

"I'm suggesting that we haven't a much of a chance of fighting Duncan without someone getting hurt, or worse. You don't have your club?" she asked abruptly.

"No, we left our Weapons behind, back home," Eric muttered. "We all did. Like last time, this wasn't planned."

"Sheila, Duncan told us that Dungeon Master wanted to see us. Duncan said that his last student could lead us there. We were all his pupils once. Can you take us to him?" Hank said it slowly, carefully. Either he didn't trust his own voice, or was embarrassed at his own outburst.

"If Dungeon Master wants to talk to you, he can find you," she said uncharitably.

Bobby looked at her, surprised at the vehemence in her voice. "Sis, he's the fastest way we know to get home. Duncan said that Dungeon Master is dying. Could it be true?"

Sheila's voice softened, but her face was oddly pained at Bobby's use of the familial nickname. "Duncan is many things, but he is not a liar," she answered in her quiet voice.

"Wait a second. You _know_ him?" Eric asked.

She nodded. "I did, a long time ago. He's one of _Presto's _family. He wasn't always the man he is now," she said sadly. "I didn't know about Dungeon Master," she whispered. "All right." She sighed softly. "I know where we can find him." She seemed oddly reluctant to admit the fact. "But we have to go. Now."

* * *

He watched her as Sheila and Eric readied the horses. There were no scars on her arms from the many cuts. There was no sign of the deep gash that had opened one cheek to the bone. Even if there were no scars on her arms, her face would have permanently marred, but there was _nothing_. It was as if it had never happened at all.

That sight alone was an anodyne to lifetime of terrible nightmares.

"It's her," Hank said quietly. "It's really her."

Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder, and nodded at his lifelong friend. For the first time in twenty five years, he actually saw Hank smile, or at least, something approaching one. Hank didn't smile, not really, not anymore. Not even on his wedding day, when he had married Nora. Bobby hadn't seen Hank smile since before they had returned from the Realm. Not since before the day that they thought that they had lost Sheila.

Hank's shoulders were a little straighter. Bobby didn't have to ask. Bobby understood exactly how he felt. Sheila's death had been a terrible burden to carry, one that they had both borne for so long that the tremendous weight of it had become part of who they were. It had changed them both, and not always for the better.

Now, that was gone, at last. Perhaps they had both been granted a slim chance at absolution.

It was a remote chance, but because she was alive, there was hope. The burden of watching her die was gone, but the guilt of leaving her behind was still there: raw, unhealed, and as sharp as a knife. It sickened his heart. Sheila had _forgiven _them, but would they ever forgive themselves? He didn't know, and he saw the same question on Hank's face, as the Ranger's eyes followed his sister's every move.

_He still loved her._

Bobby remembered how he and his friends had not aged during their time in the Realm. Evidently, that still held true. Sheila hadn't changed at all, not the slightest bit during the passing years. She was still sixteen. Her pale complexion had never tanned. She still had a handful of freckles scattered across her cheeks. The only visible sign that any time had passed was her hair. It was still a fiery red-orange, but the length was longer now, past her shoulders, and held back out of her eyes with a black barrette.

He watched as Sheila doublechecked Eric's work on the last of the horses. They were conversing animatedly. He hadn't heard what they had been saying, but Sheila threw up her hands.

"You're _still _impossible," she told him irritably. She didn't shout, but it was loud enough to carry. The remark hadn't any real venom. "Never mind, I need to check Terri's arm before we leave."

"I still can't believe it," Hank was saying. "How this is possible? How could she have survived that?"

Bobby shrugged. They both already knew the answer. "_Magic._ The impossible isn't impossible, with magic."

Fresh guilt surged up, and Bobby couldn't force it down. He _should _have known.

His heart had never really believed she was gone. It had told him the truth, when everything else had told him it was impossible. He didn't understand how. She should be dead. She had been dying. He had been so certain of it! She had been certain.

_Sis, I'm sorry! I should have come back for you. I should have brought you home. I left you here all alone! I abandoned you!_

Bobby was sure Hank was having similar thoughts, but he knew what they were thinking was impossible.

_Impossible._ He kept using that word, and it was a slap in the face. He was consumed with self doubt, but he knew the _facts_, the certainties of his own life. Or at least, he thought he had.

No one else had ever disappeared while riding the Dungeons and Dragons ride, and of those who did, only Presto and his sister had never returned. No one else had vanished without a trace in the twenty five years since. _Ever._

The day before he proposed to Terri, he had ridden it alone. By then, it was barely more than an aged wreck. The red paint had long since peeled off the car in spots, the vinyl seats were faded and torn, but he had never been so frightened in his life! He had avoided the park since the day he returned home. After the disappearance of their only daughter, his parents had been only too happy to oblige his wish.

Nothing happened.

He had simply emerged from the other side. There had been no vortex to another world. His wild hope didn't happen. Sheila didn't reappear. The doorway had been closed, apparently forever.

Bobby had stopped at the park gate, and whispered a silent goodbye. Terri was out there, and his future was waiting for him. He would ask her to marry him. The past would remain in the park where it belonged. Sheila was gone. That day had proved it, finally, once and for all, but no matter what he did, she continued to haunt his dreams.

He had never told anyone about his impromptu visit to the park, not even Terri. It was something Bobby didn't want to share, but Hank needed to know, or the Ranger would keep punishing himself.

"I know what you are thinking. You're thinking, 'I should have come back.' Hank, I rode the Dungeons and Dragons once, after we came back," he said at last. "Nothing happened, Hank. There was no way back here."

Hank turned to him in surprise. "_For god's sake_, Bobby. _Why?_"

"I've never told anyone, but after my parents died, Terri and I broke up." From the expression on his face, Bobby could tell that Hank had always believed what everyone else had. They all thought that he and Terri were a "fairytale couple" that never had problems. Bobby grimaced, but continued. "We were having a rough time then, and money was always a problem. We were both under a lot of stress already, but when Mom and Dad died in the accident, I lost it. We had a huge argument, and I thought, 'Sheila is gone, Mom and Dad are gone, and now I've got nothing left to lose.' So, I went to the park, and did it. It didn't work. I don't know why. I certainly wanted it to at the time, but when it didn't, it made me realize that Terri was really all I had left, and I couldn't run away."

Hank nodded slowly.

Bobby watched as Sheila started to wrap Terri's arm with cloth from her saddlebag. The concerned and tender expression on her face had immediately put Terri at ease. He had seen that look countless times when he had come home with so much as a bruise.

_What did she remember, and what should he tell her? What would be best if she remembered on her own? What if she asked about Mom and Dad? Did she even remember them? Time flowed differently here in the Realm. How long had it been for her? Duncan had mentioned at least...one hundred years?!_

* * *

Duncan was frustrated. The location spells hadn't worked. He had to fall back on tracking them without magic, and the Ranger had made that as difficult as possible. Someone else was helping them, protecting them! The woman – Terri – had somehow warded them. He hadn't considered that as a possibility. It annoyed him, and annoyance was not usually part of his emotional lexicon. This, however...this new development explained much, but was even more disconcerting.

He bent down to examine a set of footprints more closely. They were small. The width of the stride and placement suggested a woman. Terri had a boot heel that left an impression. The Acrobat had a wrapped fur boot, but these had no distinctive tread pattern. Probably some kind of flat leather sole, with no heel. Too small to be one of the men.

Since he had met them, he had become intimately familiar with each. He had studied their faces, their speech, their habits, their footprints, even their mannerisms. Someone else had joined them, and he wondered who it was.

Just the same, he knew he was very close, as he examined the earth. They had been walking the horses, and weren't moving fast enough. He would have them by tomorrow.

It was a race, and only a question of time now before he won.

* * *

It was getting late. The sunlight was starting to vanish into twilight, but Sheila didn't stop.

They were walking the horses. Sheila herself barely made a sound. Her footfalls were soft, almost completely silent, apparently more from some deeply ingrained habit, than a deliberate attempt at stealth. If she was _that_ quiet without effort, Bobby had the feeling that if she really wanted to, she could have gotten past even Hank.

Sheila was leading them around the village, keeping their distance, while Hank was making sure any signs of their passing were erased or muddled. Bobby looked longingly at the warm yellow lights coming from the village center, when Eric finally broke the silent pall that had fallen on all of them.

Everyone was on edge from looking over their shoulder all day, expecting to see their pursuers behind, catching up. Nerves were jangled, and tempers were frayed. Sheila had spoken little since they had left the forest that morning, and started across a plain that stretched to the horizon. She had shrugged on an impenetrable armor of silence.

Bobby had tried talking to her, but she didn't say a word.

All of them had so many questions, but Sheila adamantly refused to talk about anything. She wouldn't even speak to him. They had left her be, but Bobby worried as he trudged on. If she needed silence to work things out, then all he could do was wait. She would be able to hold it all in for only so long.

"Why bother going through all this trouble to just go around the village?" Eric muttered to no one in particular.

Sheila surprised everyone by answering.

"You stand out, Eric," she said. "You _can't _go running around in armor without someone remembering it. You all do, really. The weave of your clothes is too fine, or your appearance is too," she paused and glanced at Diana's outfit, "striking not to catch someone's memory. If we were to pass through the village where everyone knows everyone else, a gold double or a free ale is all it would take, and any one of the villagers would be happy to tell Duncan which way you went," she said archly.

Bobby had to admit Sheila that had a point. That explained his sister's shabby outfit. She wanted to pass unnoticed, and draw as little attention as possible. It implied a level of forethought and _experience _he had never considered.

They had ridden hard for most of the day, and everyone was already exhausted. Sheila had moved over the uneven ground with the ease, and the calm air of someone who had traveled in this way for years. He had thought that he was in reasonable shape before returning to the Realm, but he had been _badly _mistaken. Their time here in the Realm had sorely tested him, and the others. He thought that he had finally started to acclimate, but they hadn't ridden horses. Everyone, even Diana, had difficulty keeping up with Sheila. She didn't seem to tire at all, and had to slow down so they could keep up.

Bobby carefully concealed his annoyance. He envied her. She was still young, and had reserves of energy he had long since lost.

"Sheila, slow down, will you? Some of us are getting old," Bobby had meant it as a joke, but when he saw the pain in her eyes, his grin disappeared. He moved forward, until he had caught up with her.

"Sorry, Sis. What's the matter? I didn't mean anything. I was just kidding."

"It's nothing," she said in a melancholy voice.

"Uh huh," he said doubtfully. "I'm not a little boy anymore, Sheila. I've learned a few things since then."

Suddenly, she just exploded. "That's just it, isn't it? You're _not_. I still see the little boy when I think of you. I've missed so much of your life. I wasn't there to see you grow up. _I wanted to be. It's not fair!_" She sighed then, looking at him briefly before turning her gaze back ahead. There was nothing but pain in her once soft eyes, and her voice lowered to a bitter whisper. "I wasn't there to see you get married."

"How did you...?" She hadn't given him a chance to tell her.

"Terri told me," she said, cutting him off, her voice suddenly taking on a newly sharpened edge. "Even if she hadn't, I saw your wedding rings."

"Sis..."

Sheila stopped in her tracks. "Bobby, _just stop it_, will you?! Don't call me that anymore! I'm _nobody_!" She yelled at him with a sudden vehemence. She stared at him for a long moment, and her entire body was shaking in anger. She looked away, turned her back to him. "I haven't been your sister for a very long time," she said in a quiet voice filled with hopeless despair. "I don't even _know_ if you still like to be called 'Bobby.' Please, just don't call me 'Sis' anymore. You have no idea how painful it is."

"Sheila..." Bobby paused in shock.

"_No!_ I just _can't _talk about this right now. _I won't! _I need to focus on what's important."

She turned back toward him. Her face was a bleak, impassive mask. She quickly wiped away the trails of tears from her eyes. Her anger was gone, leaving her voice cold, chillingly empty. "We are being followed, and I can't afford to be distracted," she said finally. "I can't let my feelings get in the way. Neither can you. You should get back into single file. It's easier to cover our trail if it isn't side by side." She pulled forward, giving him room to get back into line, ending the conversation.

Terri squeezed his hand as she so often did when he was troubled, to remind him that she was there. Bobby glanced at his wife, and then stared at Sheila's back for a long time.

She looked the same, but she was very different now. They were more alike than he had ever thought. He couldn't believe what she had said to him. She couldn't have meant it. He had seen it in himself far too many times. Sheila was hurt, angry, and could no longer contain her frustration. She wasn't herself right now.

The Sheila he remembered had been so much different. He was the hothead, always angry. She had always been the reverse. She worried constantly, but she had been the center of his life during his childhood. She had had a serene calm, and a way of reassuring him, making his life seem manageable, instead of overwhelming, first at home, and then in the Realm. He was closer to her than his own parents. Their parents had always been working, so she had taken care of him. Not only had she been his sister, but she had taken on the role of mother, friend, and confidante. It was her, not their mother, who had most often dried his tears. It was her. She was the one who had tended the cuts and bruises, and tucked him in at night. It was Sheila who always told him that things would be all right.

He desperately wished he could get that reassurance right now. When she moved, made a gesture, or even stood still, she still reminded distinctly him of their mother, but there was something else, something he had never seen in her before. He had blamed himself, sometimes Hank, for her apparent death. For the last twenty five years, he had had a void in his soul where she had been, filled with loss and pain. As much pain as he had carried, he realized her losses were more severe.

He had had his parents, and then, his own family to sustain him. She had lost everyone.

It was humbling, and devastating at the same time. He wanted to tell her that they were a family again, and that everything would work out, but he really wasn't certain it would.

He was afraid that he didn't know her anymore. This angry girl was someone he had never met.

Their first five years in the Realm had changed her, but in a positive way. Through everything that happened to her, to all of them then, she had remained true to herself. Events left their mark on him and the others, but not her. If anything, the Realm had deepened her caring nature, and made her more self confident. It had strengthened her resolve to help others, and to protect the people she loved.

When Sheila reacted to the world now, there was a wariness that was unmistakably apparent. When she did finally speak, her default tone was slightly cynical, and indifferent. She was like Eric, but without the sarcasm. The unending hope, the sense of wonder, the effervescent optimism, that unshakable innocence, the openness, her gentle warmth: all of it had been stripped away. It was everything that made her who she had been, that had given her such strength of heart. Now, it was absent, gone, as if it had never been.

The Sheila he knew was always truthful, always open. It was a personality trait that she had carried to extremes. Bobby had spent years learning to read the person sitting across the negotiating table. The more he spoke to her, the more he had the feeling that she hadn't told him the truth. If she had actually lied to him, he should have been able to tell. Sheila wouldn't have been able to hide it. Not from him. It worried him when he realized that he was no longer certain.

He was convinced that what she little she had said wasn't the truth, or at least, not all of it. She reminded him far too much of Dungeon Master.

The comparison angered him, but he kept it to himself. Sheila had always protected him. He had been a little boy then, and hadn't been ready for the full reality of life. He knew she had omitted or "exaggerated" things to do that, but she had never lied to him before.

_Hadn't she?_

Just that sudden doubt seemed to be ripping apart the foundations of everything he had always known to be immutable. _The sun came up in the east, he could never get hit homerun to left field as a boy, Anna utterly despised dark chocolate, and Sheila had never lied to him._

He remembered her smile. The smile that had been like the sun coming up. It had been simple, honest, and pure. It was joy, love and warmth, somehow combined, a smile that could brighten even his darkest moment. Her smile was gone too, and he found that he missed that most of all.

All of it was so out of place, and she wasn't the Sheila he remembered_. _Things were so completely_ wrong!_ She was his older sister. The strangeness of the situation reminded him that Sheila was seven years older than himself. He was thirty three years old! She should be forty! Right now, if they were back home, she might have been mistaken for a younger sister or worse, his own daughter. That thought brought even more confusion.

_Anna. How much time had passed on Earth in the weeks that they had been here? Was she all right?_

Those were questions he couldn't answer. The worries for his sister, his daughter, and Terri were already draining his resources. Terri still wasn't sleeping well. Her injury and the strain of forced travel was clearly showing on her face. He was used to being able to handle anything that came up, and now he didn't know what to do. He couldn't reassure himself or Terri, and fears ate at him like vitriol.

* * *

Sheila rested with her back against an old oak tree. There was no sign of Duncan or his men.

It was late, too dark to go further, when they had stopped for the night to rest near a small cluster of solitary trees on the plains that defined this part of the Realm. She hadn't passed this way in decades.

Her knees were pulled up under her chin, and she was lost in thought. She glanced up at the stars. They were scattered diamonds across the night sky. She would gaze at them for hours at a time, when she was alone, to keep her fear at bay. Looking at them had helped. In some small way, they were company, and so she wasn't completely alone. They were unchanging, always there: untainted, and untouchable. _Ageless_.

Right now, she felt her age. Her youthful face and apparent litheness was a lie. She was old, far older than anyone would ever believe. At this moment, her mood was dark, and pensive. She was hurt, angry and very afraid.

She had stopped caring about the world a long time ago, or at least, that is what she told herself. The world wanted nothing less than to see her and everyone like her either dead or ground down under someone else's boot heel. She had seen how the Realm really worked, and it was obvious and simple. Those who could, did. Mages used magic to their own ends. Warlords used their armies. The unfortunates caught in the middle were always nothing more than fodder for their ambitions.

She took care of herself, protected herself, trusted only herself. If getting by meant stealing, then that that was what she did. Killing had always been abhorrent, even to her, but she wouldn't wait for, or give someone a chance to kill her, either. If things got too bad, there was always another place to go, just over the horizon. Life revolved around protecting one's own self interest, and she had learned to accept that.

Their presence changed everything.

Somehow, they were back here in the Realm. Dungeon Master had _sworn _to her that this day would never come, that this was not possible. Seeing them again was the final act of betrayal.

_Di__d he lie to me? No, he wouldn't lie. That wasn't his way. He would go to unheard of lengths to obscure the truth sometimes, to manipulate people, but he would never lie outright, not even to me. It was far more likely that something else had happened to make this possible, something that even he didn't know about._

_Hank, Diana, Eric...Bobby._

Seeing them again felt like someone was slowly tearing her heart out. She didn't know these people! They had changed, grown old...while she remained the same. _Always the same. _

She had lost so much, and now in her misery, she knew she was doing what she had done to others many times over the years. She was pushing them away. Caring about someone, then slowly losing them was too painful. It was better not to feel at all.

She was even pushing her own brother away, the one person she knew she loved more than anyone else. She had failed him. She wanted to have been a part of his life, to have watched him grow up. She wanted to be his sister again. Her brother, the little boy, was gone. She was too late. Many years too late. She knew what she truly wanted.

_I want my life back! I want to be myself again!_

She knew she might as well wish to stop the suns in the sky. The life she wanted so desperately was impossible. The day she had almost died had done more than changed the course of her life. It hadn't just parted her from her friends and family. It had taken her soul. She still had her feelings, but her memories, _her soul, _had been left in tatters.

_Damn it!_

She was trying again to remember something, anything, of who she had been, to help fill that empty chasm, but everything except the Realm was gone. She could never explain why she remembered most of their time in the Realm clearly, even that awful first day, but almost nothing of her life before that. Even Dungeon Master didn't know why her memory loss was so _selective_.

Having feelings, but no memories explain them was maddening! It was like déjà vu. She knew it was there, but she couldn't grasp it, couldn't hold on to it. All that she had were disjointed fragments, moments of time that meant nothing. They might as well have belonged to someone else.

She was broken, only half of a person, empty and incomplete. It was out of her control. She felt like a marionette, with someone else pulling her strings, unseen. She was a puppet, given the semblance of life, but not one that felt as if it was truly her own. It tormented her relentlessly without mercy.

Part of her wanted to run over there, yell their names, hug them, hold them close, and never let go. But she couldn't let her guard down. She didn't want Bobby to see how broken she truly was. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want any of them hurt, _because of her_. She had to be careful. If she wasn't, she would hurt Bobby even worse. Perhaps, it was already too late.

There was only one hurt worse than losing someone you love. Getting that someone back: shattered, changed beyond recognition, and then spending the rest of your life wondering if there was something that you could have done differently - something, no matter insignificant, that would have made a difference.

It was better that her friends remember Sheila for who she had been, not for who she had become. She wanted them to keep the Sheila they remembered, the one Bobby loved. The one she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her.

She herself didn't even use that name anymore. It didn't feel like it belonged to her any longer.

_I don't remember. Sheila is dead, and I'm nothing more than a wretched thief. Why hurt them any worse than they already have been? Somehow, I'll make sure they are safe, and if there is a way: to get them home._

_Home. _The word had no meaning, no memory.

_I don't have one anymore._

She sobbed quietly to herself.

Dungeon Master owed _her_ nothing, but he _did _owe the others. Dying or not, and even if it was the last thing she ever did, she was going make sure that that scheming old man made good on his debt.

_What if he told them? No, it doesn't matter. Once they are safe, it doesn't matter what happens to me. At least, it will finally be over._

_Duncan._ His name was another wound that had never healed.

He was another obstacle in the way. She had tried so hard to forget that she had ever known him at all. She desperately wanted to. She knew she couldn't run away any longer. She had to keep these last few loved ones safe, regardless of what had happened to her. She would have to choose between them. She would have to face the past one last time.

There was one certain way to deal with him.

Her family and friends were all she had left. She wouldn't let them go, not without a fight. She knew that they would never approve. She couldn't think of another way. If they hated her after this, then so be it. At least, Bobby would be safe. Duncan would never give up.

_Not yet, but I can change that._

She shoved her doubts aside. Terri was keeping watch. Bobby and the others were finally sleeping.

It was time.

She looked at glanced at Bobby one last time, then retrieved her crossbow, and a few other items from her belongings. Leaving the rest behind, she easily avoided Terri, and slipped silently away into the night.

* * *

The sun was rising behind her, shining down into the camp. She was a short distance away, holding the loaded crossbow pointed squarely at his Duncan's back. All she had to do was pull the trigger a fraction of an inch, and then that monster would be out of her life, finally and forever. The chainmail armor he was wearing would be absolutely no protection. At this range, the broad, hardened steel point would easily punch through armor, even plate.

Her entire body was still trembling, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

This was a form of justice, if nothing else. She had more than enough reasons to kill him, any of which would never be considered revenge.

She told herself that this wasn't the same as the day when Hank fired an arrow at Venger in the Graveyard, the arrow that would have ended the archmage's life. At least Venger had a twisted code of morals. Duncan had killed countless people for little or no reason. He wasn't a man, he was nothing more than an unfeeling weapon. If he knew she was here, he would kill even her without hesitation. Even her.

She wasn't the girl who had held Uni that day, the girl who turned away in horror when Hank fired at Venger. Not anymore. She knew if she did this, there would be no going back. If Bobby ever found out, he would never forgive her. He would never look at her the same ever again.

She had thought that she could outrun Duncan, but she had sensed his presence as he had gotten ever closer. There were no alternatives left. Until Duncan was dead, Bobby would never be safe. She lost so much already, but if Bobby's hate was the price she had to pay, then she would just have to learn to live with it.

She took aim, and willed her hand to pull the release.


	5. Interlude: Dungeon Master

Chapter Five: **Interlude: Dungeon Master**

_The Dungeon Master felt it again. This time, it was stronger, and more defined. It had become a certainty._

_Something was wrong._

_He closed his eyes, and allowed the flow of events far and near to overtake him, cutting off his awareness of his body and where he sat. His essence floated between possibilities, chains of events. It was his greatest gift, and the most terrible curse he could ever imagine._

_Often, the chain of events led only one way. And yet, all he had to do was to step back and look at it from another direction. Sometimes, the same events could take a different, and better course. A gentle push at the right moment was all that was needed, to choose._

_To observe the events, he could not be part of them. He himself could not directly interfere, at least, not too often. He had tried to intercede himself, long ago. It had changed the outcome. That was the cost of his gift. If he himself became involved, it made the results impossible to foresee._

_He was certainly not all powerful._

'And certainly I can't foresee everything,'_ he mused sadly._

_He once thought he could. His arrogance then had cost him everything: his wife's life and the love of his own children. They had turned against him, justly blaming him for their mother's death._

_Because of him, they grew to hate, to lust for power. For uncounted centuries, he had been forced to fight his own children through others. He had no choice. He had to protect the innocent. Regardless of the moral necessity, there had been so much death, so much pain, so much suffering... Countless lives had been lost. All of it was ultimately his fault._

_He couldn't find whatever was calling out to him, and he felt the weight of yet another failure. He knew some terrible fate would shift from what might happen, to what would happen, if he did not hurry._

_Some of the voices, among the multitude he always heard, abruptly went silent. They were the missing voices. The children had gone home!_

_Suddenly, a sense of fear lashed across his awareness like a whip. Another was screaming in pain and sorrow. A feminine voice. Her scream allowed him to recognize her. It was the girl, Sheila!_

Where are they?!

_He began to search for the children, his mind frantically following the flow of events from when he had seen them last, hoping that it would somehow show him where they were now. It was difficult and time consuming. Two years had passed since he had seen them. Finding ways home for his favorite pupils had become increasingly difficult as time went on, and they had lost patience with him. Every meeting became more hostile, until finally, they had decided to go their own way. Only a tearful Sheila had shown any regrets at their parting._

_That girl had done more than she would ever know. She had changed the very fate of the Realm. Her compassion, her love, had changed it. He had feared that with his death, the Realm would fall under the sway of Darkness led by his own son. When Sheila had saved Kareena's life by risking her own, for the first time in centuries, Kareena opened her heart to another. Sheila had done so, even though Kareena had used Sheila as a pawn in her own power struggle with Venger. If there was room in her heart for Sheila, he had hope that one day Kareena might be able to forgive him for his own sins. With her redemption, his own daughter would one day take his place as protector of the Realm, when the time came at last._

_Suddenly, he saw a ruin of gray stone. Venger was attacking. Dungeon Master knew he was too late. Time had already passed that critical point, that juncture, where the thing could be changed. Perhaps something might yet be done._

_Venger fled, chased off by someone with powers equal to his own. _Kareena!_ At that moment, he was stunned with recognition. His daughter had intervened, and saved them when he could not!_

_His relief melted away instantly. Only four of the children were no longer in the Realm. Something was still wrong. He felt it._

_Pain. Fear. Cold. Darkness... Death._

NO!

_It was close, so very close. It was reaching out with its icy clutches to embrace its victim. He felt it, deep in the pit of his soul. He had lost so many pupils over the centuries. So many. Each time it happened, it stole away a little of himself. Every time. He had to distance himself from each one of them carefully, lest he go mad with grief. Many had died before their appointed time, dear friends, men and women who bravely, willingly, gave up their very lives in service to the people of the Realm. The nobility of their endless sacrifices were no consolation. Too many died far too young, and those lucky few who survived to old age, slowly withered away before his eyes._

_These children were precious to him, beyond any other pupils he had ever had. Torn from their own world, yet brave and true beyond any and all reason, they strove to make the Realm a better place. It wasn't even their own! Yet they struggled on, even at the cost of their greatest dream: simply to go home, and rejoin the loved ones they left behind._

_He begged fate that death would be denied its prize, just this once. He'd give anything if it could be prevented! He had always kept his feelings well hidden, but in truth, the children had become as dear to him as if they were his own. Especially that one gentle girl with fiery red hair, so full of love and hope that she offered it to all..._

_He raced forward, chasing the chain of events to find the present moment. He froze. What he saw in his mind's eye nearly stopped his ancient heart altogether._

_He watched as Kareena uncovered her from the pile of rubble using her magic. Sheila wasn't moving. Her body was as broken as the stonework where she rested. The sight brought tears to his eyes. Her legs had been crushed. Her left side was mass of burned and blackened flesh. Her arms were a network of intricate cuts and bruises. There was a gash on her cheek. Half of her young face was covered with dried blood._

_Her eyes were closed, and yet, he felt her presence. She was so gentle, yet somehow she was fiercely, impossibly, still clinging to life._

_It was too late. The die had been cast._

_She would not last much longer, and there was nothing he could do. It was far, far too late. Death was Nature's doing, something magic might delay, but not finally undo. When the balance was tipped in its favor, nothing could be done. Nature's laws were specific. The alternative was unthinkable, an abomination._

_He couldn't bear it. He had to look away, closing his mind's eye as he wept uncontrollably for the first time since the death of his wife, many ages lost._

"_Oh, my son...What have you done?"_

_Suddenly, his vision was forced back, and he had no choice but to watch._

_Kareena was kneeling next to Sheila. The red gem in Kareena's ring pulsed brightly with every beat of Sheila's heart, sustaining her. It began to slow. He felt Sheila weaken. She had fought, and fought hard, to this last moment. She began to slowly slip away._

_Kareena didn't hesitate, tapping on a well of power, almost as vast and timeless as his own. Without warning, in the span of a heartbeat, Kareena poured all that she could harness, the power learned from the countless ages of her life, into Sheila's body, all at once._

_'No, Kareena! It is forbidden!' he screamed, knowing his call wouldn't stop her._

_Sheila's eyes flew open and she gasped for air. Her back arched as her mouth opened in a silent scream._

_Suddenly, he was on fire. He rolled on the ground, screaming as his body spasmed. His old joints threatened to dislocate. The fire intensified again and again, a dozen times over. He felt his own heart slow, and the chill of Death. It settled over him for a moment. It would be a welcome release from the pain, the sorrow, the regrets, and the terrible burden of responsibility. It paused almost regretfully, caressing him like a lost love before moving on. He was in agony, and his soul was burning! Then, suddenly, the pain was gone, and he was gasping raggedly for air._

_He watched from afar as Kareena suddenly stiffened. She began to fade, becoming transparent. She reappeared briefly, flicking in and out, like a candle flame in a gale. She smiled once, and then vanished completely. Her ring fell to the ground, and rolled to a stop._

_He knew his daughter was gone._

_When he was finally able to think a coherent thought, he willed himself there._

_He wept as he picked up the only thing that remained of his youngest child, holding it in a shaking hand. Its magic was gone, lost, forever exhausted. The gold ring with its faceted red heartstone glistened in his palm. He had fashioned it for her himself, so long ago. Kareena had been a different person then, much like the girl nearby. His daughter had died in a vain and foolish gesture, and he had failed one of his most beloved students. No, it was far worse than that. He loved Sheila as much as he had his own daughter. This was his fault, his responsibility. His negligence had lost two of the people he loved the most, yet again._

_He was so certain Kareena had failed in the attempt, that he fell backwards in shock when he saw Sheila breathing. _She was alive! What had happened here? How could this be?

_His hand was shaking as he gently wiped away part of the dried blood from her face with his sleeve. The gash was gone. Only soft, flawless pale skin was visible._

_Somehow, Kareena had done the impossible! She had known she would fail, and had somehow traded her own life. Nature's balance was maintained: a life for a life. The daughter he had lost to evil long ago, had returned at last, for one final act of redemption._

_Now Kareena was gone._

_Even as his tired shoulders shook with grief, he was in awe at her final act, something made out of hope and love, but he was also very afraid. Sheila might be alive, but what damage had Kareena done to her in saving her life? The laws of nature were not meant to be broken._

_All miracles had a price. It had already cost Kareena her life. What price would yet be paid?_

_Gently, he called her name, trying to wake her, but she didn't stir. He touched his hand gently on her forehead, and then jerked it away as if he had been burned._

_The battle for her life was over, but she was not safe._

_It was too much! Infusing Sheila's body with so much power without restraint would have terrible consequences, particularly when the girl hadn't yet developed the natural capacity for it. The potential for magic had always been within her, but she wasn't ready for this. It was unnatural: too much, too fast._

_It was already too late. Kareena was dead, and could not now withdraw it. Nothing could be done to stop it. He couldn't help her._

_Sheila was fighting for her very soul, and she was losing._

_Her eyes opened suddenly, and she screamed as the magic erupted, surrounding her body in a blinding light._

* * *

The old man sat down on the rock, slowly, painfully.

_They had returned._

Even though his heart felt joy in that he knew he would see them again, that joy was tempered with so much pain and regret.

"Are you all right, Dungeon Master?" she asked.

Like her parents, her heart was pure as the light from the morning suns. She barely knew him, yet she was clearly, genuinely, concerned for his well being.

She reminded him of _her_. Sheila had offered him trust and hope. She had had a simple gift: an all encompassing compassion, love for everyone. He had betrayed that. He had betrayed her, as surely as he had his own Kareena.

Now, yet another child offered him the same, all over again. Such good fortune, _such kindness,_ was something he knew he didn't deserve.

_How many more lives would be destroyed? Would the Realm change her too?_

He couldn't bear look toward her when he finally answered.

"I am fine as I can be," he told her carefully, changing the subject so she wouldn't worry. "They will arrive safely."

He could tell she wasn't entirely fooled. It didn't erase the cares from her voice. He tried to hide the fact he was worried. He spoke in half truths. They would _arrive_ safely.

"Do not worry, Anna. They will come."

Even as he said it, he knew his time was coming to an end, _finally_, at long last.


	6. Moments in Destiny

Chapter Six:** Moments in Destiny**

She tried to hold the crossbow steady, but her entire body was shaking.

_I have to do it!_

She kept thinking of Bobby. She couldn't stop. Suddenly, he was everything. The fact that her brother was there, within reach, and not safe, on some far away and forgotten world scared her. His presence eclipsed everything else. She had to protect him. She couldn't let Duncan harm him, or the others.

Even more importantly, she had to protect them from herself. She wasn't the sister that Bobby remembered, or the dear friend the others saw when they looked at her. She wasn't the girl Hank had loved. She knew that she had changed. She knew she was lacking.

It wasn't only the absence of her memories of home. It was everything. All of the things she had done and all of the years apart. Bobby's every glance was a judgment. The hope and love she saw in his eyes burned her soul with shame. Hank's lovesick eyes tore at her. Diana's friendship, and even what passed for Eric's acceptance, the constant verbal sparring, all of it was excruciatingly painful. She couldn't stand it!

They saw only Sheila Rowen, the girl who had been given a magical cloak, who had traveled with them for five years. They saw the beloved sister, the friend, that they still loved, even after all these years. Even when it was so evident to her that she wasn't that girl anymore. That girl was gone, lost a long time ago. They didn't see her, they saw Sheila. _She_ wasn't good enough. She wasn't deserving of their love or devotion.

She wouldn't have hesitated before, but now, thinking of them, she had to. She would have killed Duncan. She wanted to, and had been trying to justify it ever since last night. Now those justifications seemed hollow and empty, nothing more than a lie to cover an act, that in her heart, she knew was wrong.

Her friends, her family, her feelings: all of it, had long since been buried, discarded, left behind. She wouldn't have believed that it was possible that all of it could suddenly well up again without warning. For so many years, she had been alone, and she had distanced herself from them and their memory deliberately. She didn't want to _feel_. She had walled her heart away so that it couldn't hurt her anymore. It was the only way to maintain her sanity, and what remained of her identity. It was the only way to keep from screaming in agony, fear, and loss.

Their presence in her life now was nothing short of catastrophic turmoil. In the space of only a day's time, they had threatened to tear down the impenetrable wall that had taken her years to build up. They could stop her from doing what she had to do. If she didn't stop thinking of the past, she couldn't do what the present demanded of her.

She was suddenly filled with rage, and drowning in guilt. She didn't want to admit the truth. She wanted to kill Duncan, because she had saved his life. She had loved him once, and he had repaid that love by killing others. Every death he caused since was her fault. Now, he was going to kill the last of her family, the last people who gave her existence any meaning at all. She couldn't allow that.

_Enough! _She shoved her doubts away coldly. She had stopped shaking. Sheila took aim again, and reached for the trigger.

* * *

Dungeon Master closed his eyes.

She was actually going to do it, and the Realm would fall with her.

Sheila was going to kill, and with that, she would at last hurl herself off of the precipice that her soul had narrowly avoided for so long. She would fall into Darkness, and finally lose herself completely,_ forever_. He was going to lose her. He loved her as he had his own daughter. It was her choice, an act of her own free will. He could not interfere.

_I lost Kareena. I will not lose her too!_

There would be a terrible price to pay, but he would take that burden upon himself if he could, gladly, to save her. He had failed her, then betrayed her. _The scales must be balanced._ He couldn't let her destroy herself. He had so little strength left. He didn't even know if he could reach her, or if she would even listen.

_Sheila, no!_

He was too weak. She couldn't hear him. She _wouldn't_ hear him. He couldn't _force_ her to stop, but he would no longer stand by and do nothing. He wouldn't let it just happen, not again.

There _was_ someone that she would listen to, someone who had the strength he lacked, who was hopefully within reach.

Dungeon Master didn't spare anything, even though he knew what it would cost him, what it might cost each of them.

* * *

_Bobby woke to the sound of a door slamming shut. The summer sunlight was in his eyes, shining in his bedroom window, and he blinked._

"_Sheila, please. Honey, open the door."_

_His mother's voice came from the hall in front of Sheila's door. Mom was upset about something, and wanted to talk to his sister._

_Sheila was in a bad mood. He sighed as he threw back the covers. He dressed quickly, knowing that Mom would come to see him next. She would want him to talk to Sheila. On the rare occasions when she was like this, Bobby was the only one she would talk to. After a visit from him, she would almost always come out of her room._

_Oddly, Mom never knocked, and he heard her footsteps retreat as she went downstairs._

_That didn't bode well at all. He knew if Mom didn't enlist his help, something was definitely wrong._

_He was disappointed. He had hoped that today would be a good day. It was Sheila's birthday, and he didn't want to see her crying. He hated it when she was like that. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he loved her dearly. He always had, and seeing her cry made him want to do whatever he could to help. He thought for a moment, and then came to a decision._

_He was going to wait until later, after the cake, but maybe his present would cheer her up now. He wanted her to have a good birthday, and her hiding in her room would require drastic measures to remedy. He picked up the small gift he had wrapped so carefully in purple tissue paper a few days ago, and slipped down the hall to her door._

"_Sheila?" he asked, "Can I come in?"_

_He could hear her crying. She didn't answer._

"_Sheila?" he repeated._

"_Go away, Bobby. Leave me alone," she said finally in a broken, sobbing, cheerless voice._

"_C'mon, Sis."_

"_I said go away, Bobby!"_

_She practically screamed at the top of her lungs. Bobby was so shocked at his sister's unforeseen ire he stumbled backward away from the closed door. She never yelled at him. Ever. Other sisters yelled at their brothers, but not Sheila. She was always so worried about him, so much so that she never dared, unless she was so upset that it overrode her normal tendencies. Every instinct warned at him that it was time to run for cover._

"_Bobby?" Mom's voice came from the bottom of the stairs._

"_Yeah, Mom?"_

"_Maybe you had better leave your sister alone for a while. Come down and get something to eat."_

This was definitely not good.

"_I'll be down in a minute," he answered back._

_He started to turn toward the stairs, but then he stopped. Something else told him not to move, even if Sheila had yelled at him. So he stayed, even if he didn't completely want to admit why. He did have a reputation to keep._

"_No," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere, Sis, until I know you are okay. Even if I have to stand here all day."_

_He was almost ready to give up, knowing he couldn't stall Mom for too much longer, when he heard the lock turn, and the door slowly opened._

_Sheila looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her expression was bleak and empty. Her cheeks were still wet with tears. But that wasn't the worst of it. The aura of sunny cheerfulness that always surrounded her was absent. Instead, a pall of raw misery seemed to hang heavy in the air._

_Suddenly, he wasn't sure that any present, no matter how carefully chosen, no matter how long he had agonized over it, no matter how much time he had spent wrapping it until it was just right, would ever be enough._

_She didn't say anything, but retreated back toward her bed in the center of the room._

_Sheila's room was another world, strange and alien, partly themed in her favorite color, purple. She always said it was called lavender, but he could never tell the difference. It was a girl's room. He carefully avoided the white "vanity" table with its large mirror, its surface arranged carefully with its brushes and other items he didn't have names for. The curtains had lace. The room even smelled different. Unlike his own room, where Spiderman, Batman, and other heroes had their adventures on his floor, and success was measured by the pattern of scattered toys, her floor was always neat. She never had a mess, at least, not until now._

_There were photos scattered everywhere. Her photo album had pages torn out. Unlike himself, Sheila never trashed anything before, even when she was mad. He had assumed that he was the only one who liked to break things when the occasion called for it. He stood aghast at the implications. The idea that Sheila could do something like this seemed insane. He started to move forward to help her as she hastily picked up pages and photos, and shoved them back into the bindings, but she motioned him away._

"_I'll take care of it," she said quietly, obviously deeply embarrassed. Not certain of what to do, he waited until the disaster was removed. Sheila finally set the reassembled album down on the vanity, and then sat down on the edge of her bed._

"_I'll be all right, Bobby. You don't need to worry about me," she said. She smiled at him._

_He was seven now, and wasn't fooled for a minute._

"_What's wrong?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it, Bobby. Please don't ask. It's private."_

"_Oh," he said sagely. He decided to let the matter drop, rather than risk upsetting her even more. It was probably better he didn't know, and she wasn't likely to tell him anyway. _A girl thing. _He was actually relieved, but he didn't let it show._

"_Sis?" For some reason, she looked away. "Are you going to be okay, for real?"_

_She didn't speak, but just nodded._

_This wouldn't do at all. If Sheila spent all day crying her eyes out, or moping around, they would never have any fun, and he did have plans for the day, including cake, and laughs, but none of this._

_Bobby knew there was only one recourse, one thing that never failed. Like any of his heroes, he knew that one day he would be called upon to do something he disliked, but would need to do it anyway, for the greater good. Now, finally, it was his turn. So as much as he detested it, he walked over and gave his sister a hug._

Mushy.

_She was visibly surprised, but when she hugged him back, the hug was oddly weak. She was on the edge of crying all over again. He could tell. He was sure he made the wrong move, but after a few minutes, she just held him before letting go. At least, she wasn't crying. That was possible progress._

_Not sure how to proceed next, he simply sat down next to her on the bed._

"_Happy Birthday," he said slowly, handing her his gift._

_For a moment, she looked like she was going to refuse it. She started to say something, but stopped when she looked at his face. He was suddenly very afraid that she wasn't going to like it. He didn't want to disappoint her. He didn't pretend to understand girls, even his own sister. He didn't understand why they liked jewelry, but Mom had promised him that Sheila would like it._

_She unwrapped it slowly, and opened the small red velvet jewelry case. It was just a gold locket, deliberately left open so that Sheila could see his picture inside. He was closer to her than their own parents. Even though she always worried about him constantly, and often embarrassed him, he wanted to give her something special, a gift to show her that he did care._

_She took out slowly, and he watched as she held it with trembling hands._

"_I love you, Sis."_

_He didn't know why he said it. It just slipped out. He never said it before out loud. He did love her, of course, but it was obvious, he always thought. It didn't need to be said. Saying it was so embarrassing. He fervently prayed Sheila never told anyone._

_Suddenly, she was crying again. He was about to run for it, thinking he had done something wrong after all, when Sheila grabbed him, and pulled him into a hug so tight he thought he was going to be squashed._

_He usually hoped his friends at school didn't hear of her mushy, emotional outbursts toward him, but for this once he didn't care. He just sat there on the edge of her bed in uncertainty, unable to escape, until he heard her whisper between the tears, "I love you too, Bobby, and I always will."_

_Time slowed. The sound of her crying stopped. Suddenly, Sheila wasn't there. One moment she was holding him, and the next, she was gone. He wasn't alone._

_Dungeon Master was sitting on the corner of Sheila's bed._

_How or why he was in Bobby's dream of a long banished memory, Bobby didn't know._

_He recognized Dungeon Master immediately. The old wizard was pale, and shaking. He looked old, and very, very frail, but there was an undeniable sense of urgency about him. Something was wrong. He shouldn't be here. He didn't belong here! Not in Sheila's room. Not in his dream._

"_Help her," Dungeon Master pleaded weakly, reaching toward him. He fell off of the bed onto the carpet._

_Bobby jumped off the bed and hurried over to him, helping their old mentor into a sitting position. "Hurry, my son. Take my hand."_

* * *

When Terri finally couldn't stay awake any longer, she had finally awakened Hank for his overdue turn at watch. She hadn't wanted to sleep. Sleep only gave her nightmares. Nightmares that she would lose her family, that the Realm would somehow take Anna and Bobby away from her. She would die years from now, an old woman, without hope, lost, and totally alone.

The moment after Hank had stirred, he asked her where Sheila was. She was gone. They had to find her.

She let Hank wake the others, while she tried to wake up her husband.

Even though Sheila had kept them all at arm's length after her sudden and miraculous return, it was plain to see that there was a part of Bobby's anguished soul that was finally at peace. The thought of waking him up and telling him that his sister had vanished was a blow straight to her heart.

"Bobby? Bobby!"

Terri shook him, but he didn't respond. He didn't wake up. Terri started to panic, calling Bobby's name over and over, trying to wake him.

Hank gently moved her aside, and checked his friend.

"He's breathing normally. Normal pulse."

Terri could see the motion of Bobby's eyes under his eyelids.

"Is he all right?" Eric asked.

"I don't know! I'm not a doctor! I'm just a firefighter. I think he's in a deep sleep, almost a coma."

* * *

Bobby didn't have time to think about it. He was scared. He had never been so frightened before. Not even facing down Tiamat. He suddenly knew Sheila was in danger. He grabbed for Dungeon Master's hand.

In the space of a heartbeat, his awareness exploded outward. He was drowning in a deluge of voices, all at once. Bits of time flew past him: the past, the future, the present. He couldn't control it, and he felt himself slipping away to the void. He knew if he couldn't stop, he was going to die.

_Terri! Anna!_

* * *

Venger stumbled back into his throne. He felt a very mortal fear as he slowly caught his breath.

_Something was happening._

He had felt pain, as if his own heart was going to burst. He _knew._ At last, after countless ages of animosity, of unbridled hatred, it was time.

He bolted to his feet. His wings spread themselves wide, and his hands were shaking. Venger hated him still, but regardless of his Master's will, one thing could not be changed. He was who he was.

_Strange. _There was no joy in the event, only a sudden deep regret, even sorrow, that lent strength to his outcry. It was only one word, one _name,_ that he hadn't used in centuries, but he hurled to it the heavens with anger, and hopeless anguish at the inevitable and eternal cycle of time. It was the anguish of a son calling out for the last time.

"_FATHER!"_

His voice literally shook the very foundations of his castle, and the orcs scattered in fear as the archmage's howl echoed mournfully throughout every hall.

* * *

Anna cradled Dungeon Master's head in her lap. The strange old man was barely breathing. He didn't open his eyes when she called his name over and over again. Tears were running down her face. She was so scared. She wanted her parents right now. They would have known what to do.

"Please, _please _wake up," she begged him.

Suddenly, he simply faded away, leaving her all alone.

* * *

Sheila aimed for his heart as Duncan turned toward one of his men. She didn't care anymore. She refused to allow it. She squeezed the trigger, and the bolt leapt forward into the air, eagerly seeking for its target.

* * *

"Bobby, no!" Terri was hysterical. Eric held her back in a viselike grip that she couldn't break. Bobby's heart had stopped. The nightmare was coming true. Her world was dying.

"One, two."

Diana pushed another breath into his lungs, while Hank started compressions again.

"_Come on, Bobby." _Diana begged him. "_Don't do this!"_

* * *

One instant it was quiet, and the next, it was as if nature herself had gone mad. The empty morning sky was instantly overcast in dark, angry clouds that spat lightning, splitting the air. An icy wind blasted out of nowhere, cold as the very breath of the deepest winter. Then Duncan felt something hit him. Time slowed, and he looked at the bolt in shock.

Freezing rain hit his face as he fell over into the long grass. Suddenly, he wasn't sure if it was the rain or his own tears. In an instant of time, the world had changed, and he felt a sense of wonder that he hadn't since he was a small boy.

_Everything is so clear, so beautiful. Why hadn't I noticed it before?_

Long silver beads of rain glistened off the grass next to his face. Duncan smiled, then he sighed gently as he stared off into infinity.

* * *

Sheila blinked in the rain. She continued to stare down into the camp, and had watched as Duncan collapsed. She didn't notice or care about his men, drawing their weapons and scrambling in her direction, intent on revenge. She couldn't flee. Everything was frozen for a moment in time.

She dropped the crossbow as if it had burned her, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. There was no way to describe it. No justification, _nothing_ would ever make this right.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Diana was crying. Hank had looked away, but he was shaking.

"No!" Terri screamed. "Please, god, no!"

She found the strength to break away from Eric, and fell to her knees next to the man she had sworn to cherish. Her world was crumbling around her. There was nothing they could do. It was too late. The weather had spun out of control. The nightmare had come to pass.

Her love, her Bobby, was dead.

* * *

They surrounded her quickly.

She didn't draw the dagger in her right sleeve. She didn't resist, didn't fight. There was no need.

There were few trials or courts of law. Justice in the Realm was most often brutal, swift and sure. She _deserved_ this. She knew in her heart that she had betrayed everyone she had ever loved, and now there was nothing left.

It was the end.


	7. Journey in Light

Chapter Seven: **Journey in Light**

The moment he had taken Dungeon Master's hand, Sheila's room had vanished.

He was trapped in a hurricane of strange, dark visions, and blinding white light. Everything rushed past him in a succession of images, sounds, voices, colors and textures that had never resolved to more than a blur. The past, the present, perhaps even the future, all of it had swirled around him. It collided together all at once, with a catastrophic fury that had left Bobby's unprepared mind grasping for a reference, something to anchor to in the vast ocean that had threatened to drown his soul forever.

It was too much. He couldn't make sense of any of it. He felt the cold certainty that death was reaching for him.

_Terri! Anna!_

As abruptly as it began, the journey was over.

It was suddenly a chilly fall morning. The leaves on the trees were turning from a lush green to their customary red and gold that they assumed in the months leading up to a typical Midwestern winter. He could see his breath steaming, but he wasn't cold, even though he was just wearing a tee shirt, worn jeans, and his favorite pair of tired old sneakers.

Bobby was stunned to realize that he was standing in a graveyard.

_Lakeview Cemetery. How the hell did I get here? I must still be dreaming._

He hated this place. He hadn't come back here since his parents had been laid to rest next to Sheila's empty plot. His family was buried here. This place was filled with nothing but painful memories. As much as he missed his parents and his sister, he never wanted to see this place again.

_What the hell was Dungeon Master talking about? He said that I needed to help her. If I am dreaming, it sure doesn't feel like it. But if it is a dream, could Sheila somehow be here?_

She was nowhere in sight. Bobby stood there for several minutes, completely baffled. He wasn't sure what to do, so he started walking. An elderly grounds-keeper waved to him.

"Have you seen a girl, sixteen, with red hair?"

Bobby had started walking there before he realized he had a destination in mind. There was only one place that he could think of that Sheila might go looking for if she really was here.

The old man shrugged. "No, can't say that I have. She visitin' family?" he asked, setting aside his rake against a tree, next to his pile of leaves. It seemed odd that the grounds-keeper should be raking leaves when most of the trees were just changing color.

"To be honest, I don't know if she is here," Bobby answered in a defeated tone. "I don't know why I'm here."

The old man nodded sagely. "Life can be difficult sometimes. Sometimes, ya need ta go back, 'fore ya can move on. I've always found visitin' family, remembering the good times, helps me deal with the bad."

"They passed away a long time ago," Bobby said bitterly. "Is it possible that you missed seeing her?"

He didn't seem to hear.

He looked up at the gray overcast sky, and scowled bitterly. "Storm coming. Looks like a bad one, too. I'm too old for this," he said shaking his head. "I stayed long past retirement really, but no one else wanted the job. Today was my last day. I was hoping for sunshine, but now I'll have to settle for rain. Still, there is always a new peace after a storm...and hopefully someone new will tend to things. Life has to go on," the old man said gently. "I've been doing this for a long time, but it's been years since I've seen you here abouts."

"Yeah, I haven't been here in since before my daughter was born," he admitted.

The grounds-keeper smiled ruefully. "Finally coming to see family, eh?" He looked at Bobby's embarrassed expression, and nodded. "I don't get to see my son much either. Stubborn fella. Never could talk sense to that boy." He shook his head. "That's why you're here though, hey? Ta remember them, be a good son?"

"Wait a second. You knew how I haven't been here?"

"Sure 'nough. You're one of the Rowens aren't ya? I've known your family for a terrible long count of years. No one ever comes by to visit them anymore. Alistair, Jennifer, Sheila..." He recited the names carefully. "I visit with 'em, and even said hello from time to time." The old man eyed him over. "But you, sir, have the look of someone who is lost right about now."

_No kidding!_

The old man began to chuckle to himself. "I know what you're thinking, a crazy old man. Maybe so, but I've been around a time or two."

"I'm looking for someone. I don't need any advice."

"Oh, no!" the grounds-keeper held up his hands. "Not me. I'm done giving advice, and besides, you look like you're a grown man. It's time you made up your own mind. You came to see your family. _They_ are the ones you want advice from."

"I wish they could," Bobby said disconsolately. "but they can't."

"Now, that's where you're wrong," the old man said matter-of-factly. "The people who love ya, might not be standing in front of ya, but no real love ever dies, boy. They taught ya. All ya have ta to do is stop and listen. They still talk ta ya, every day." He stepped toward Bobby and stuck a bony finger on Bobby's chest. "That's where they are now, boy. In your heart. It's where they've _always_ been. Neither time or distance, not even death itself can stand in the way. That's where they'll _always_ be." The old man shook his head. "You're a smart boy. After all you've seen, you should know that."

Bobby grimaced. He really hated this place. _Philosophical old coot._

"Anyway, I should finish this, and be gettin' home. My wife and daughter have been waiting for me a long spell already, and the missus has quite the temper when I'm already late."

"Take care," Bobby told him politely, and started walking. Bobby heard the old man's rake start moving again.

"Don't expect I'll see you again for a long while," the old man said to his back. "Take care of yourself. My best to you, and your family. Tell your sister not to give up. Where there is love, hope is reborn."

Bobby spun about, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign that he had ever been there, except for his rake. It was still leaning against the tree where he had left it a few minutes before.

* * *

Anna was alone.

She wasn't afraid of being alone. She was afraid of what was happening. Dungeon Master had collapsed, then disappeared right in front of her. She was afraid that something bad had happened here, something that she didn't understand. She was afraid that the strange little man was gone, and wasn't coming back. She was afraid that she would never see her parents again, in spite of the fact that he had told her that they were coming, and would be here soon.

As determined as she was not to cry, she started crying anyway. Everything just welled up, and spilled over into tears.

Anna didn't hear the sound of hooves. She didn't want to acknowledge the presence behind her at all, even after the unicorn mare knelt down onto the spongy spring green turf beside her. Even the sight of such a wondrous creature was no consolation right now. Anna felt a warm breath on her neck. She turned and threw her arms around the unicorn's neck, welcoming any comfort.

She cried for a long time.

When she finally stopped, she stared when she realized that the entire herd surrounded them both. The others kept a discreet distance. Many were still fearful, and skittish of her, even after the last few days. But their heads were lowered, and their beautiful spiraled horns touched to the ground.

They seemed to be able to understand everything, and Anna knew that right now they were crying. They were crying for the same reason she had been.

Dungeon Master was special, and now he was gone forever.

_'It's not your fault, Anna. There was nothing you could do.'_

Anna heard her voice, and jumped in surprise. She looked around. There was no one in sight. Hello?" she called plaintively.

_'It's all right.'_ The voice reassured her_. 'I'm a friend.'_

The unicorn nuzzled up against her.

"You can talk!"

When they had first entered the Valley of the Unicorns, Dungeon Master had told her that unicorns could talk. She didn't believe him. It was silly, and she had told him so. He had laughed. He had just laughed, and said that the unicorns could talk, but didn't need to, and so didn't bother. No, they never spoke, not until now.

The voice was like a quiet whisper in her head. The unicorn looked at her. It was almost smiling, but its voice and large violet eyes, were sad.

_'Yes, we can - with magic. We prefer not to. It's not easy, and most humans can't hear us anyway. They don't want to listen to the world, they would rather try to own it.' She snorted in annoyance, then her voice softened again. 'I'm sorry for what happened. I would like to keep you company. I don't want you to be alone.' _

"What is your name?" Anna asked.

_'Unicorns don't have names, Anna, but you can call me "Uni" if you wish. Humans who are our friends give us names. Your father named me, a very long time ago.'_

"You know my Dad?" Anna asked her, not quite believing it.

_'Yes, I knew him, when he was a boy. Dungeon Master didn't tell you?'_

"He never said a lot about anything," Anna answered, shaking her head.

Uni almost sounded as if she was laughing, but it wasn't a happy laugh.

"Is he really...?"

Uni didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Anna could tell from her silence. It brought fresh tears, but Uni softly whispered to her, until exhausted, she finally fell asleep.

* * *

It was cold, and Bobby shivered involuntarily. He tried blinking to clear his vision, but the world around him held on to a dreamlike aspect as the skies threatened a downpour. The world shook as the storm gave notice of its coming.

He chastised himself for wasting time on that old man, when he had to find Sheila - somehow. A few sporadic raindrops had just started fall by the time he found his parents' grave.

_Have I been away for so long that I forgot how to find them?_

Bobby saw a woman placing flowers next to the gray headstone. She stopped for moment, before placing a single rose on Sheila's marker_._

_Terri? _Bobby started jogging toward her."Terri!" he called out her name, but she didn't answer, or give any sign that she had heard him at all. He stopped to catch his breath for a moment, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Terri turned, and looked at him, but her expression was one of confusion.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" She asked politely, but she was clearly annoyed, as she wiped the tears from her eyes to get a clear look at him.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," he said awkwardly, quickly. "I just came to visit them. I didn't know anyone else would be here."

She wasn't Terri, but there was an incredible resemblance. She had Terri's hair, and the same mouth. She even had the same sad half smile, half frown, that Terri had when she was heartbroken, but trying to hide it. The same face. She wasn't Terri, but he knew her.

It was impossible! Bobby was staring at his own daughter. She was...

"Anna?"

"Yes?" Anna brushed a loose strand of raven hair out of her face. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

"You don't recognize me at all?"

Anna shook her head. After an uncomfortable pause, she shrugged ever so slightly. "No. I'm really sorry, but I don't. I haven't been back here in a long time. I take after Dad in that. He hated coming here too. I'm overdue for a visit. I never knew them, but I think Dad would have wanted someone to come by."

Bobby started to speak, but stopped. The words "would have wanted" suddenly stood out. They were in the past tense. Bobby couldn't bring himself to say who he was. He didn't know why, but it seemed suddenly important not to tell her. Would she have believed him anyway? His mouth felt very dry, and he wanted to swallow, but couldn't. All that he could do was stare at his daughter's face.

_She's at least twenty five. She looks so much like her mother. This isn't real! It can't be real. It has to be a dream. Anna is nine years old!_

"Did you know them?" she asked quietly.

Bobby tried swallowing again, and finally found his voice. "I'm Robert," he said finally. "Yeah...Yeah I knew them, very well."

She looked up at him, and smiled. "Did you know my aunt by chance? Dad never said a word about her. Not once. I never knew she even existed. It's like Aunt Sheila was some deep dark, family secret."

He paused. He had never talked to Anna about his sister. He seldom even spoke to Terri about her. Sheila's memory was always very painful. Worse yet, he had never wanted to lie to Anna about what had really happened to Sheila. So he didn't say anything at all.

Anna never knew her grandparents. They died in a car accident, before she was born. Beside Terri, there was no one else to tell her that Sheila had even existed at all. Anna would have found out about her eventually, of course. He had always planned to mention her aunt someday, but he could never figure out how to start, and how to tell her why he had kept Sheila a secret. Whatever this was, a dream or real, there wasn't any reason to stay silent any longer.

"Yes," he said. "I knew her. Bright red hair, almost orange, actually. Green eyes, freckles. Had a smile that brightened everyone's day. Constant worrier, though. She was the sweetest, most gentle girl you ever met. She always saw the best in people. She always helped people, always cared, even when they treated her badly. Everyone loved her, and she loved them back. I ...knew... your dad pretty well. He and Sheila were very close. After she was gone, it just killed him inside. He...never really got over it, and never wanted to talk about her after that. In fact, your mom, and then you, were the only people in the whole world that kept him going, the only ones he ever cared about."

"I know," she said quietly. She smiled, wiping new tears from her eyes. "I miss him."

"Anna, we are going to be late. We have to go!" a man's voice shouted in the distance.

"I'm so sorry, Robert. I have to go. I wish I had more time to talk." Anna reached into her purse, and drew out a white business card. "Please, call me. I'd like to hear more if your willing." She passed it to him, stood on her toes, and then kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Bobby just stood there as the rain started to fall in earnest. He wanted to go after her as she hurried away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. A gut feeling stopped him, warned him away. Instead, he turned over the card and read it.

It proclaimed "Anna Rowen, Attorney at Law" in a minimal black and white print almost identical to the one that he had always used.

_To hell with this!_

"Anna, wait!"

She didn't seem to hear him, but kept on walking.

He started after her when the vortex opened right in front of him. The same vortex that started all of this so long ago. It whirled angrily, shifting this way and that, deliberately blocking his path, no matter which way he turned. Bobby tried to run, but he didn't make it more than three steps before everything vanished in a crash of thunder and white light.

* * *

Bobby was gone.

Diana was shaking from the cold rain and grief. All of her life, when things had become too hard, too painful, she simply moved beyond them, but this time she couldn't. Bobby was Sheila's little brother. Sheila loved him more than anyone else in the world. That kind of love between siblings was something that Diana had never been able to fully measure or understand.

She had a brother herself, but they were never close. Her parents had split up, separating them when she was too young to remember. Tom might as well be a stranger. Bobby had always been Diana's second chance, a chance to make up for loss of her own brother. Bobby was more than a friend. He was family. She couldn't let him go.

She shoved a hysterical Terri aside.

"Diana," Hank grabbed her wrists. His voice was hardly more a hoarse whisper. "There is nothing more we can do." His blue eyes locked with hers. "He's gone...Let him go."

"No! I won't! This is the Realm, Hank! I don't believe this! Sheila comes back from the dead, disappears, just as Bobby doesn't wake up? That's not a coincidence! HELP ME!"

* * *

The suns were awakening to morning twilight and a flawless blue sky. The horizon was dotted with shreds of cloud, and the first rays were starting to warm the brown stone.

He was standing in the high gallery looking down at the gates.

The view was still spectacular. The last time he was here, a small part of Venger's army had been encamped in the valley. This time, he could see hundreds of camp fires that dotted the valley floor far below. Bobby had stood in this spot, with his friends.

_Tardos Keep? What the - ?_

He wasn't alone.

Sheila was there, the early light turning her long hair into a flowing autumn mane lifted by a morning breeze. She wore an elegant soft velvet gown in a deep shade of purple that so dark that it was almost black. She stood there silently, looking down into the valley intently. In spite of the army below, her face had a look of peace as she closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled.

He recognized her easily, but she was different. He was overwhelmed with a strange thought. Sheila was a part of the Realm now. This was where she belonged.

"Sheila?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer. He reached for her shoulder, but his hand passed right though her as if she was nothing but air. Bobby stared at his right hand as if he had never seen it before, then reached over to touch the stone. It was still cool from the night air, and solid.

He reached for his sister again, calling her name, but it made no difference. He couldn't touch her. He tried blocking her vision, waving a hand inches from her face.

Nothing. It was as if he wasn't even there. She couldn't hear or see him.

"Hello, Gerrard," she said, breaking the silence. She didn't turn to look. The man who walked up behind her was a strange contrast to his sister's courtly appearance. He was a fighting man, someone who had seen too many campaigns. His face had been broken and scarred many times over. His armor was dented, worn and spattered with gore: all obvious signs of recent use. His bearing was formal and proud, but he wasn't a happy man.

"Has he arrived?"

"Yes, my lady," he grated hotly. "We should - "

Sheila held up a hand, and he went instantly silent. Sheila had puzzled look on her face. Gerrard went immediately for his weapon, drawing the broadsword at his hip in a heartbeat.

She glanced in Bobby's direction, and she shook her head. "No. It's nothing."

"Sheila! I'm here!" Bobby shouted directly in her face. Sheila didn't react.

Her voice was suddenly laced with sad despair. "I know what you would advise, Gerrard," she said softly. She closed her eyes. "We have no choice."

He scowled, but answered in a respectful tone. "Yes, my lady."

"He warned me that this time would come," she whispered, "but I didn't want to listen."

Gerrard looked at her quizzically.

"Is it done?"

"Yes, my la -" She turned and grimaced at him. He took a deep breath. The man's face was too battered to be considered handsome any longer, but his expression, his entire manner toward her softened, and was abruptly fatherly, meant to be reassuring. "Yes, Aly. I burned it myself. The dragonbane is destroyed."

"A small victory." She frowned. "It's time we left. It would be dangerous to keep him waiting, Gerrard. Not to mention rude." She gave him a small smile.

Gerrard barked a harsh laugh. "Truly, my lady. I'm the soul of good manners."

Like a princess in a fairytale, Sheila turned and gracefully led the way as Gerrard fell in step behind her, his ironshod boots rapping a staccato on the stone. He kept his large broadsword in hand, but the devotion in his eyes never left his face.

Bobby followed them down into the Keep, though several dark and twisting corridors. He paused for only a moment, to take a breath, when Sheila and Gerrard vanished into the black.

He was still trying to catch up with them when he saw the light of torches. Bobby moved toward the light, and then stopped. Venger's orcs came into view.

Bobby didn't think. He turned, and ran back into the darkness.

The sound was a low rumble at first, and then grew to a deafening roar. The passageway shook, and then dust and chunks of the ceiling began to rain down on him.

Even if it wasn't dark, he couldn't see. His eyes were watering, and his lungs were burning. Bobby gagged from the dust in the air. Something heavy hit his left shoulder, and he lurched forward. He collided face first with the wall in the dark, and white light flared across his vision.

Bobby was completely disoriented.

Everything kept changing and he couldn't get his bearings. The passageway was gone. He was standing literally in the middle of nowhere, in tall green grass, as the rain came down in sheets. The storm exploded overhead into a full force gale.

Bobby could hear the loud pounding of his living heart. It throbbed in his ears, and then began to gradually slow. The world seemed to slow down in time with it. Even the rain slowed its decent, and the rage of thunder was softened.

Everything stopped. It was as if the entire world had decided to pause for this one moment, and the silence was deafening.

Bobby watched as someone appeared out of the grass. Although the rest of the world remained a blur, he could see her with absolute clarity. Sheila took aim at something with a loaded crossbow. Bobby looked past her. She wasn't aiming at something. It was someone. Bobby could see the vague outline of a man. The curtain of rain seemed to thin out, as if it had decided to deliberately let him see further.

_Duncan. _

She was taking aim at Duncan, who was completely unaware of her.

_She was going to kill him! No!_

"Sheila, don't do it. DON'T!" he shouted. She didn't hear him. He rushed forward to stop her, and tried to grab the crossbow. His hands passed right through it as if he had no substance.

She fired.

Bobby watched the bolt fly through the air in slow motion. It struck Duncan in the chest. Bobby watched as Duncan reached toward it with a stunned expression, then toppled backward.

He couldn't believe it! Sheila had killed Duncan, right in front of him. It was a cold, premeditated murder. The Sheila he knew wouldn't even think of harming someone. She had never intentionally hurt anyone in her life. She had truly changed. All of his fears about her had become real. She was a complete stranger to him, after all. The sister he knew was gone.

Duncan's men didn't realize what happened at first. They didn't know that a young girl could simply walk past their watch, undetected. She was wearing her Cloak. Sheila had time. She could have escaped. All she had to do was pull up the hood, will herself to vanish, and she could have just walked away.

She didn't.

He watched as Sheila stared at Duncan's body, and then dropped the crossbow, backing away. She shook her head, and then buried her face in her hands. He could hear her sobbing. She was in shock, or something close to it. He could see it on her face. She was horrified at what she had just done. There was still a part of her that he knew. She didn't fight back, or try to run. Bobby tried to intervene futilely as Duncan's men raged up the hill. He had to protect her. They passed right though him.

The first man to reach her stared at her for a split second.

Bobby could see every detail of his face. He was youngest of the men who had traveled with Duncan, barely more than a boy. He was only a few years older than the girl in front of him. The girl who had just killed his master. He stared at the sight of her, completely surprised. He was expecting an enemy, someone with a weapon, someone threatening, someone more formidable than a weeping girl. Then he saw the crossbow at her feet. The surprise on his face transformed into fury. He backhanded her so hard that Sheila spun away from him, landing face first on the ground. Bobby tried to pommel him to no avail. The man grabbed her roughly by her long hair, and pulled her face out of the mud.

The others caught up with him, and they surrounded her. Then the youth forced her to her knees. Another of Duncan's men handed him an axe. He hefted it, glanced down at her.

Bobby tried to tackle her would be executioner. Bobby simply passed right through the man, carried by his own momentum to stumble and roll in the wet grass and mud. He jerked himself up, and tried again. It was utterly futile. It was if he wasn't even there.

Bobby couldn't watch, but he couldn't turn away. She didn't struggle, instead Sheila looked directly at him. Her eyes locked with his. She didn't speak, but he heard her voice clearly.

She suddenly smiled softly. It was the warm, loving smile he remembered so well.

_I love you, Bobby. I always will._

The axe began the downward swing.

_NNNNOOOOO!_

At the last moment, Sheila vanished. The only sign of her that remained was the corner of her Cloak, cut clean through by the axe.

Then he woke up.

Bobby took a deep breath, then coughed. Every part of his body felt like it had been battered and broken, but it was distant. He was cold, wet, and partially numb. He only vaguely heard the stunned voices of his friends, or felt Terri clinging to him hysterically. It was several minutes more before the world resolved into something that made sense to him.

"Terri..." he couldn't say it. She just held him tight, sobbing.

"I thought we had lost you there for a minute. You're tougher than you look," Eric had a silly grin on his face. "Diana didn't give up. She always has been pigheaded."

Bobby coughed again, and tried to take in another breath. Diana just smiled back at Bobby and his wife, completely ignoring Eric's verbal jab.

"We don't have any shelter. There is nothing for miles," Hank said loudly, so that he could be heard over the storm. "Can you stay sitting upright? If you stay down in the wet, you will get pneumonia for sure."

The dream came flooding back.

* * *

Hank Garrett was lost.

Bobby had tried to go after Sheila, but he was in no condition for it. Hank and Eric threatened to tie him down if he didn't rest. He kept claiming that she was in danger. It was Terri who brought him back to his senses. She had slapped him, hard.

Bobby just stared at her then, blinking as if he had never seen his wife before. She told him in frosty tone that he wasn't to move from the spot. Duncan was still out there, and the weather was bad enough that following Sheila was impossible. Hank and Eric would look for Sheila as soon as the weather broke. Bobby would stay put. He was weak, and still recovering. He would only slow them down. She had almost lost him, and wasn't going to let him risk his life over a bad dream. The discussion was over, period.

None of them really understood what had happened, but somehow the Dungeon Master was involved. At any other time Hank would have discounted it as a hallucination, but he had seen too many strange things in the Realm to simply dismiss this out of hand.

If it was a warning, if Dungeon Master had somehow reached out to him in a dream, and nearly killed Bobby, then he was desperate. Diana was right. Too many things happened at once for this to be a coincidence.

_Had he really tried to give them some kind of warning? _

Whatever he meant to warn them about, it had made no sense. Not even Bobby was sure, but Hank didn't dare ignore it. Sheila was missing. At least she had her Cloak, and from what Bobby described, she had used it to escape.

The only thing he was sure of was that Sheila had simply walked away. The signs were clear. Hank wanted to go after her himself, but Terri was right. He had some skill, but he couldn't find Sheila in this. He wasn't that good. Every minute that passed ate at him, and assured the certainty that whatever Sheila was up to, any signs of where she had gone would be washed away.

_Sheila, why? Why did you leave us like this?_

Every time he thought of her, he found himself lost in the past. He was a teenage boy again, deathly afraid of her: a beautiful, slender redhead with an incredible smile. His stomach tied itself up into knots. He couldn't tell her how he really felt. He couldn't let himself even think of her being hurt. If he gave it so much as a moment's thought, he froze, just as he feared he always would. Even now, after all these years. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he still loved her.

He thought that he had let go of her years ago. He had married Nora, and moved on. He hadn't.

_Nora, you were right._

More than once, he had tried to drink away any reminders of the day that Nora had filed for divorce, telling him that was nothing else left. She didn't even blame him. She simply said that she couldn't compete with a ghost of a dead teenage girl. He loved Sheila more than he loved her. He had vehemently denied it, blaming her, blaming life, and blaming himself. She was right. Nora had seen right through him. He was still in love with Sheila. He had never stopped loving her, and now he was afraid he had lost her after all.

Bobby's strange dream account of Sheila's actions, whether they were dreams or real; the past, the present or even the future, didn't matter. They left Hank to worry that he didn't know her anymore. He wanted it to be just a dream.

Sheila had left her horse, and taken her crossbow, exactly as Bobby had described.

_If Sheila had killed Duncan, why...? Why would she do something like that? _He knew the answer already. He might have done the same in different circumstances. _She did it to protect us. She must have changed in the last twenty five years_. No, for her it was much longer, if Duncan's comments to Bobby were true_. Over one hundred years_. No one would be the same after all of that time. _No, not Sheila. She couldn't._

In a way, he understood what she did perfectly. She would do anything to protect them, especially Bobby. But the Sheila he loved would have never gone this far. He couldn't believe it. He refused to. Hank couldn't reconcile his memories of her with the person that Bobby claimed she was now. No one he had ever known had changed so much that they seemed to be someone else.

Unlike Bobby, Hank was even willing to admit that given the right circumstances, killing Duncan was a foregone conclusion. Duncan was Presto's great-grandson, but Hank had looked into his eyes. Duncan _would_ kill if he felt it necessary. Hank knew because had come so close to crossing that line, a long time ago, for far less. Unlike Duncan, it was something that Hank could never do, unless their lives were in danger, and there was no other way.

_If I had, we would be no better than you, Venger. I didn't do it for you. I did it for us!_

He didn't forget what he had told Venger. He hadn't forgotten that he had come so close to killing him. He had never told anyone, but it wasn't his sense of right and wrong that stopped him. It was the horror in Sheila's eyes that had pulled him back from the edge. As he remembered the lesson of that awful day, he wondered what had made Sheila, of all people he had ever known, willing to do something she found so terrible.

* * *

He knelt down in the wet grass, looking for signs of her passing, but there was no sign of Sheila anywhere.

Eric's approach brought his attention back to the present. Both Eric and his horse moved wearily, and their breaths steamed in the unnaturally chilly air as he rode up.

"Find anything?" Hank asked, devoid of hope.

Eric's face was a stoic mask.

"Eric?"

Eric didn't answer at first. His face was iron, and his jaw was set. His brown eyes were hard. They might as well have been chipped from stone. He said nothing, but handed Hank a piece of purple cloth that had been sliced away from a garment. It was soft to the touch, like velvet. Hank knew what it was immediately.

It was a piece cut from Sheila's Cloak.

"Where did you find this?" Hank demanded.

"About a half an hour from here, I found what was left of a campsite."

_Bobby's dream!_

Eric was actually shaking. "No," he said quickly, before Hank could ask. "I didn't see her."

Hank breathed deeply in relief. "Let's go," Hank said, climbing into the saddle.

Eric didn't move. His voice was hollow.

"Hank, Duncan's men were there. They're all are _dead_. Whoever did this, killed all of them. If she really killed Duncan..."

"No," Hank stated flatly. "You know _she_ wouldn't do that."

"Think with your brain for once! She has her Cloak. Why didn't she tell us that she still had it? If Sheila was invisible, if she really wanted to...she might have," Eric grabbed his arm. "If she did this, whatever her reasons - we have to _stop_ her, no matter what it takes."


	8. Interlude: Sheila

Chapter Eight**: Interlude: Sheila**

_All that Sheila could remember was terrible pain. _

_It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. She always felt so weak. Every time that she woke up, she felt weaker. All that she wanted to do was sleep, but she couldn't give in. She knew each time that she opened her eyes, she was lucid for less and less time. She was afraid that if she let go that she would never wake up again._

_Her mouth was so dry. She was shivering from the cold, but at the same time, she felt as if she was going to burst into flame from the inside out. She was breathing slow and shallow breaths, but every breath sounded wrong, and hurt as if there was a weight on her chest._

How long had she been like this, hovering between brief moments of lucidity and haunted dreams of madness? Days? Weeks...Months? 

_Sheila didn't know for sure. She only knew that time had passed. Every time that she woke up, either Dungeon Master or Presto was always there, sitting by her bedside. Their faces were constantly haggard and drawn, neither of them looked as if they had slept for days. Their expressions were always grave._

_She remembered snatches of conversations, bits and pieces that made very little sense. Sheila had heard Dungeon Master and Presto speaking to each other, on what must have been several different occasions. The voices were always tired, laced with concern, and something else. _

_Fear._

_She concentrated, trying to remember. It was difficult. Memories came back slowly, far slower than they should have. Yes, she was ill. She shivered involuntarily._

No, it wasn't the fact that she was slowly dying that frightened them. They were afraid that she was losing her mind. 

_Kareena had done something to her._

_When she wasn't herself, she had said terrible things – demanding to be released, first making promises, then threatening retribution, even violence. She had screamed at them both for days, until her throat was raw. The recollections were so hazy, but she knew that they had actually happened. _

_Guilt surged up. She was so ashamed._

I hope I have the chance to apologize.

_She wanted to tell them that she was there now, that she was lucid, that she was so sorry, but she couldn't move or speak. She couldn't even open her eyes. She had no control over her body, all that she could do was listen. _

"_What?" Presto shouted. Sheila had never heard his voice so strained, so loud and angry._

"_I don't believe that we have a choice," Dungeon Master's voice answered coldly. "If she was going to recover, she would have. The sickness that threatens her life is not the worst of it. Her body is weakening fast, but Kareena's actions are what we must deal with. If we do nothing, Sheila will die, or her mind will finally break. If that happens, even death would be a blessing."_

_It was so strange. _What had happened between them?_ Neither of them sounded like the people she knew and loved. Presto was so furious. It wasn't like him at all, and Dungeon Master's voice was so...so empty. Worse yet, he wasn't speaking in riddles._

"_I know," Presto answered in a defeated tone, his voice calmer._

"_Kareena is dead," Dungeon Master's voice was quiet. "Her intentions were noble, but Nature's laws are not meant to be broken, and this is the result. Kareena's magic, her memories - are destroying Sheila. This must stop." _

I'm here! I'm all right!

"_You told me that you can't remove Kareena's memories."_

"_No, I cannot separate them from her own."_

"_Then...Are you insane? We can't do that to her!" Presto shouted._

"_Would you rather she died?" Dungeon Master retorted. Then his tone relented. "She will remember slowly, in time. She needs time, time for her body and _her spirit_ to heal, the way it was meant to."_

_Sheila felt a hand gently touch her forehead. It felt rough against her skin._

_Dungeon Master's voice was gentle. "Please forgive me," he whispered softly in her ear. Then his voice became stern. "For now, you must forget."_

_She felt bits of herself begin to detach and fall away. She knew that Dungeon Master was taking her memories away, one by one. She wanted to trust him. He was trying to help her, but this didn't feel right._

_Memories flashed by out of order. Each was precious, both good and bad. As each went by, it vanished into nothing. Her life began to fade away. She was losing herself. Dungeon Master was stealing away everything that made her who she was._

Stop it! _She begged silently. _Please!

_After a time, she didn't even remember who was doing this to her. She had always trusted him, and now he was hurting her! Helpless, she could do nothing as everything she knew disappeared. _

_She saw a face, but she couldn't remember his name. He was handsome in an honest way, with deep blue eyes that read every sign no matter how small or insignificant. His features were chiseled, sharply defined in planes and angles, but careworn and tired. His face was always spoiled by a permanently serious expression. His life had left his body muscular and well defined, although he was wasn't excessively tall, perhaps just a head and shoulders taller than she herself. She remembered kissing him. He had made her feel... She couldn't remember anymore. _

_Had she loved him?_

_She wanted to remember him, but she had to let him go, when she felt her memories of... his name was gone now too. He was just a small boy, but she refused to let what was left of him to be torn from her grasp._

NO!

_Fury raged up. It wasn't a choice. It was instinct. No longer helpless, she fought back. _

"_What is it?" a voice demanded in a worried tone._

"_Somehow, she is fighting me," another answered incredulously. She focused on that voice. The voice of the man who had betrayed her trust._

_Stop it! You're hurting me!_

_He ignored her pleas, and forced his way back into her mind. She screamed in agony. Before she could respond, he quickly and cruelly tore away everything she had left, ripping it from her soul._

_She cowered, as the pain finally faded. Whoever she had once been, that person was gone now. She felt empty and incomplete._

_There was something else there. _

_She knew they were her memories, but they had been locked away, deliberately hidden a long time ago, even from her. He hadn't seen them when he had taken the rest. They had been buried deeply, masked by the presence of so many others. Now that she was an empty void, they couldn't hide anymore._

_Her hated enemy hadn't taken everything, after all! _

_He reached forward again. He was going to take them too! She seized at them, trying to yank from his grasp, to claim them as her own._

The fire that had smoldered inside of her responded to her desperation. In a heartbeat, it went from a fading ember to a searing hot inferno as her hatred and anger exploded outward. _The spells that restrained her began to give. She strained against them with everything she had. They shattered into nothing._

_She opened her eyes, and sat up, shoving him away. The small old man in robes fell backwards to the floor, more from surprise than any real strength her weakened body could actually muster. _

_She turned toward him slowly, only vaguely aware that her entire body was wreathed in warm red golden light. _

_The wizard and his apprentice stared at her, the fear on both of their faces was plainly visible._

"_GET AWAY FROM ME!" she screamed hysterically at them both. _

_Then spent beyond any hope of defiance, she fainted._


	9. The Sum of Ourselves

Chapter Nine: **The Sum of Ourselves**

The icy rain poured down around her, turning the spongy turf into moist, cold, brown mud. Her ragged clothes were spattered with it, and they stuck to her skin, as the damp chill threatened to seep into every pore of her body. She shivered and her breath steamed in the gray air, but the cold didn't matter. All of the world: everything she ever hoped for, every happy moment, every fear, every dream, every joy, all of it was gone. Nothing mattered anymore.

_What have I done?_

She wanted to believe that she did what she had to, but she simply couldn't. Her conscience wouldn't allow it. For so long, she had walled her heart away, wanting to feel nothing, afraid to feel anything. She even had believed that she wouldn't feel anything at all. She was overwhelmed by indescribable shame, and self loathing. There was no going back now, no undoing what she had done, even though she suddenly wished with all her heart and soul that she could.

What was left of the walls around her heart crumbled into dust in a moment. The moment that she knew that she would regret forever.

It was too late. She had made a choice, and Duncan was dead.

It was an eternity before she saw the man who was staring at her. They stood there, motionless, staring at each other through the freezing gray curtain of misty rain.

He was young, very young.

_He can't be more than seventeen, from the southern provinces of Kadish._

Like so many other Kadashmen, he had the olive complexion, black hair, and strange piercing blue gray eyes. Those eyes studied her with a harsh, puzzled, almost sad expression. He reminded her of Rahmoud, and the tears started to flow. She had to look away.

The world spun in a fiery white daze of pain, and she was face first on the long grass and mud. He had backhanded her. She felt numb, distant. The pain barely registered, but her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek. The coppery taste of blood was on her tongue.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, and painfully jerked her head up. She had to grab his arm to prevent him from pulling it out by the roots as he hauled her forcefully to her knees.

She didn't really care. She decided to stop fighting it. Fate had taken her home, her memories, her sense of herself, and now at last, her soul. She was tired. Tired of all of it.

All that she had wanted now was release. She wanted everything to just stop. She wanted an end. Her only wish for so long had always been simply to be certain of herself, of who she really was. Now it didn't matter, because she hated herself. Whoever she was, now her conscience wanted justice, and an end to the guilt. She wanted to _let_ this happen.

_Forgive me, Father._

The words appeared in her mind of their own accord, and she knew they, like the guilt, came from some part of herself that was long forgotten. She drew in what would be her last breath. She trembled as she waited for the moment of sharp pain that would be the last sensation she would ever feel.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat feeling like an eternity. It beat again, then a third time.

_What was he waiting for?_

She opened her eyes, and looked up into the face of her executioner. He was standing there, paused in mid swing, a tenth of a second from the killing blow. Duncan's men were ringed around her, and all of them were frozen in time.

Her breath exploded from her lungs into a white cloud. The sound made her jump in surprise. She hadn't even realized she had been holding it.

It was so quiet, and so cold.

She hugged herself for warmth, but she began to shiver violently and her teeth chattered. Every breath was felt like a thousand tiny daggers stabbing her lungs. It was so cold! Far worse than the rain or storm could have ever been. She knew what it was. She had felt its touch ever so briefly once before, a long time ago.

It was the touch of death.

_What is this?_

The world was eclipsed in a fog that obscured her vision to a short distance beyond the circle of soldiers. He emerged from the mist without a sound.

Dungeon Master stood still in front of her, unaffected by the cold, but he had aged visibly since she had last seen him. He was still blind, trembling as he walked slowly toward her, using his staff to guide his way. He looked so frail that he might have blown away with a strong wind, but the sense of his presence, his power, was undeniable, stronger than ever.

In spite of everything, she suddenly wanted to rush over and hug him, to tell him what happened. She wanted him to tell her that something could be done to set the world right again.

She froze. _He can see!_

His large blue eyes were stern, even hard, but the expression on his careworn face was one of such sorrow that she was stunned into a shamed silence. She could see the tears as they streamed down his face. He didn't have to say anything.

_He knows._

He knew what she had done, and he was _ashamed_ of her. After all that had happened between them, his opinion of her shouldn't matter, but it did.

It did.

She bowed her head, and remained kneeling there in the cold, wet grass, unable to look him in the face. His appearance and her sudden reprieve meant nothing. All that she could feel was that shame, so intense and so painful that she couldn't bear to look at him.

"Hello, Sheila," he said.

_Sheila._ He always called her by that name, but Sheila belonged to another world. She knew that was who she was _supposed_ to be. Dungeon Master and Presto had told her that she was Sheila, but even though she had so many of Sheila's memories, she wasn't entirely convinced she had ever been the person they described.

She couldn't think of what to say, so she simply answered weakly in a voice that sounded as if it had no real will of its own anymore.

"Don't call me by that name," she begged him. It was more out of reflex, than anything else. It was an old litany in any conversation between them, the words spoken so often that they had actually lost their meaning.

_Please don't call me by that name. _It hurt too much. That name forced her conscience back into the light. That name forced her to face what she had done.

_Please, don't._

"It is who you are," he said. His voice sounded old, quarrelsome, and tired.

She felt anger creep into her voice, giving her the courage to look at him instead of away. "No, it isn't. She's gone. I'm all that's left. You lied to me. What happened to me didn't take my memories. _You did_."

He didn't answer. She had suspected it for a long time. She wanted to hear him deny the unspoken question. "It's true, isn't it?" she pressed him, surprised at her own nerve. She had finally asked, and now she wasn't sure she wanted an answer.

"It was a terrible thing, that wounded both of us," he admitted at last. "I did as I thought best, what I had to do. You _are_ still Sheila, in your heart and soul. Memories aren't the entire sum of ourselves."

"And that made it right?" she demanded. Hearing him admit it hurt, but it also made her furious.

"No, it does _not_," he said quietly, "but I meant no ill. That is no consolation, but it is all that I can offer you. I won't ask for your forgiveness. I do not deserve it." He paused. "You attacked Duncan," he said.

It was a statement, but it felt more like a counter accusation.

"I _had _to! I had to protect Bobby!" she fired back, suddenly unsure of herself.

"You wouldn't even trust him with the truth," the old man said flatly. "Like yourself, if I am guilty of lies, they are lies of omission. We all keep secrets, hoping to protect ourselves, and to protect the ones we love. You should trust your brother as he trusts you. He's not a boy any longer, but a man."

_He is lecturing me, about truth and trust, after what he did? _

"He's my little brother!"

"So you would do this again?" Dungeon Master asked her, staring at her with those eyes, as if he could see into her soul.

"YES!"

"Really listen to your heart. Do you truly believe what you are saying?"

She stopped herself just as she opened her mouth. He was right. She _didn't_ believe it.

"_No,"_ she whispered softly, "I am _so_ sorry. I wish I hadn't done it. I may not be the same person he loves so much, but I'd give my life for him."

"You were my pupil once," he hissed at her angrily. "I have never been so disappointed, never so ashamed. Do you even realize what you have set into motion?" he demanded. "_No?" _he asked, not waiting or caring for an answer._ "_ Someday soon, you will._"_

Dungeon Master's voice had become as cold as the mist, and his face was stone. He had never been so bitter. Every word stung her to the soul like a lash. She couldn't help but flinch. He shook his head. "Yet, something of that girl remains in you. Your love for your brother and that regret still give me hope. "

_Sheila! Nnnnoooo!_

She heard Bobby's voice as clearly as if he was standing next to her. The desperation and fear in his voice actually caused her pain. Her brother was reaching out to her. He was in terrible danger.

"Bobby?" she whispered.

Everything inside of her that was still Sheila wanted to run, to find Bobby, to keep him safe, but she couldn't move. Dungeon Master's iron gaze held her fast.

"His fate rests with you. You are the last hope. There is no going back. The past cannot be undone. Fate cannot be stopped, but you may still be able to change its course. Go to the Valley of the Unicorns. Find the Eye of Merlin."

Then as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

There was no time to think. Her body moved of its own accord. She rolled to one side, barely avoiding the axe that would have finally set her free. She was to her feet in an instant, as she pulled the hood of her Cloak over her head.

Duncan's men stared at the empty space she had occupied for only one long second of surprise, but it was enough.

They swung at their swords at nothing. She shoved her way between two of them before the shock wore off and they realized what had actually happened. They couldn't stop her as they stumbled back in surprise. She wouldn't let them.

She ran. She ran as fast as she could, not thinking, not caring about the men who had just tried to kill her moments before, or the fact that she had actually wanted them to.

How Bobby had accomplished it, she didn't know, but it didn't matter. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs burned, but she couldn't stop. She wouldn't.

For a few moments in the long span of her life, empty despair had been all she thought she had left. It wasn't true. Bobby had snapped her out of the guilt driven daze. He was her reason for living. He always had been. Bobby meant more to her than her own life. She couldn't let anything happen to him. He was why she refused to give up.

_No! I have to save him! I have to get him safely home!_

She stumbled and fell to her knees. Ignoring the pain as if it didn't exist, she dragged herself to her feet again. She managed to run a short distance further, before she stumbled again. No matter how hard she tried, how stubborn her will, she couldn't rise from her knees.

She pulled down the hood, so she could see herself as her left hand went to her abdomen. She stared at her hand. The rain washed the warm crimson blood between her fingers.

The swords hadn't missed her, after all.

"Don't make him suffer for my mistakes! _Help me!_ _Please! Not Bobby!_" she screamed at the storm. Somehow, the old man was responsible for her brother's call. The lightning cracked again, as the world began to spin. She collapsed forward. She no longer had any strength, as her life leaked out between her fingers.

"Spare him. Take me..." she whispered weakly. "I'm so sorry...not Bobby..."

She blinked. The rain no longer stung her face. She couldn't feel her body any longer, and she closed her eyes. She was cold and drowsy. The pain faded away, and she felt herself begin to drift. All she wanted to do was go to sleep.

She felt the fire build in her chest, waking her up, and driving the cold away.

* * *

"Master, we must hurry," it said urgently. Shadow Demon was seldom this insistent, but it knew that he would be displeased if his plans failed. It was afraid that he would blame it if they did not arrive in time.

Duncan was lying on his pallet.

He was unconscious and alive, but barely. The wound he had suffered from a bolt had almost killed him outright. It was plain to see that the wound was mortal. His breathing had a pronounced gurgle. Soon he would die, unable to breathe at all. It was only good fortune, and a testament to the man's strength of will that he was still living at all.

There was still time, if he wasn't too weak. Venger stepped forward, but then stopped.

They weren't alone.

"Show yourself!" he growled.

Kareena faded in, rapidly gaining substance until she was no longer a transparent apparition, but almost flesh and blood.

He looked at her. She was much the same as she had been the last time he had seen her in life.

Even as a shade, she was no longer the sister, the hated rival, that he had known. After his defeat and entrapment by Sheila within the Ring of the Mind, Kareena had chosen inexplicably to ally herself with their father. Even though she had hated Dungeon Master more than he.

Even stranger yet, she had chosen to age, and had become a woman before her death.

Her long blond tresses fell freely about her shoulders, but she had their mother's face. She was pale and tall, a distant echo of their mother's memory. She wasn't wearing the customary red of their family colors, signifying her deliberate choice to reject her past. A choice to reject her family. Her shade was still wearing the same pale blue gown she had worn the day she had died.

"Do not do this, brother," she said sternly. "It is his time. Let him go."

He paused for only a moment. He wasn't sure if it was a demand or a plea, but his dead sister's desires meant less than nothing to him.

"Brother?" he asked curiously. "Am I your brother, _sister_? Am I speaking to Kareena or to Sheila? Can you even tell_ yourself_?" he asked in a mocking tone. "You entwined your own soul with hers. Now you are as much her, as she is you. If you want his freedom, then help me!"

"No. I willingly served evil once...Never again," she said.

"You're a greater fool than our father! He served the Realm in ignorance of the truth, but _you, _you tasted _power_. You _know_, and you threw it all away! _For what? _ Did you think you could become like _her_? That you would get a chance at _redemption_, thinking that our father would love _you_ as he did _her_?"

Her eyes flashed, and he knew he had hit a nerve, dead or not.

"Or did you want to _become_ her? Go ahead then! Reclaim your power! She is bound to you. Take her body for your own."

"You're mad!" she exclaimed.

"You know it can be done! Power is a necessary thing. Even in death, you can feel its call, as you struggle to keep it a bay! I _know_ you can feel it," he said softly. "Your magic still lives within her, a part of you. You took a portion of her soul, and gave of yourself to willingly take her place in death. She is you and you are her. You could become her if that is your wish. You could be yourself, whole again."

"No!" Kareena lashed out at him.

The temptation to live again, the hunger to _feel_, to be flesh and blood, was palpable. He could see it in her eyes, no matter how much she denied it. She was so close to giving in.

Now that she was off balance, it was time to take a different tack. Venger smiled with false sympathy. _Now, that she is wounded, it's time to turn the knife._

"Sister, haven't you sacrificed enough? You could have a new life. She nearly killed the man before you, the great-grandson of one of her dearest friends. She is no longer the girl you sought so hard to protect that you gave up your own life. She did what she did and suffers because she is not whole, because of you. You are the only one who can set her free. Let her go, _mercifully_, into death, and you can live again."

"I _can't_," she whimpered, backing away.

He held up a closed fist in the air between them, that glowed with his power. She didn't flinch and her expression didn't change. The dead feared nothing, because they thought they had nothing left to lose. She was wrong, and now she would finally learn.

"You will choose. Her life, or his soul." He smiled as he delivered the ultimatum. "Save yourself from an existence between life and death. Only then I will let Duncan die in peace."

_Do it, little sister! Either way, I win!_

"No." She stood straighter, and her voice steadied. "I won't. It's _wrong_. I had my life, and I made a choice. I don't have the right to another. Living or not, somehow, I _will_ stop you."

"_You?_ You are no more than a shade, still within the Realm only because you are bound to a living soul, only able to seen by those who knew you in life, connected to her! You have no power here," he said acidly. "So be it. You mean _nothing_! See for yourself!"

Her eyes widened as he cast the spell. She cringed in horror as Duncan's mortal form began to melt like wax, leaving only ivory bones, and battered armor. There was no sign of life, until the empty eye sockets ignited, bearing a burning red flame of hatred born of an indomitable and angry will.

"Arise!" he intoned formally, as the newly reborn skeleton warrior sat up.

_Yes, he will do well. He has the magic of his ancestors._

"Venger! What have you done to me?" Duncan demanded in a hollow, rasping voice, as he stood.

"I have saved you from oblivion, to serve me."

"I am no slave, sorcerer!" the skeleton howled, daring to reach forward and seize a handful of robes.

"Release me," Venger said calmly, and he clinched a fist. Duncan let go, and fell to his knees. The spell, designed to torture his minions, inflicted excruciating pain, even upon the undead. Duncan would _suffer_ for his insolence.

"Enough!" Kareena begged him, after mere moments. Venger let Duncan go.

"Duncan," Venger down looked at him. "I am not your enemy. I will help you will gain revenge on the one who tried to kill you."

"Why? Why would you do this to me, then claim to help me?" Duncan's rasping voice was filled with impetuous hatred and rage, but Venger let that pass for now. Such things were useful, and breaking Duncan's will completely would make him worthless.

_Perhaps later, after he was no longer useful._

"In this form, you are stronger. She cannot easily try to kill you again. After she is dead, I will release the spell."

Duncan stood slowly.

"She? You know who tried to kill me?"

_Good. Very good._

"She was once one of Dungeon Master's many pupils. She is a thief and assassin, sent to protect the Barbarian and his friends."

"How could he know our plans?"

"My spells protected you from being seen by magic. There is only one way. One of your men must have told her how to find you."

"That is not possible. My men are loyal."

"Your men are dead."

Duncan rushed past him out of the tent.

Venger knew what he would see as he followed Duncan out of the tent. He would see the bodies of his men, slaughtered. The assassins had done their job well before Venger had disposed of them. They had failed to kill the Barbarian and his friends once, but they had rendered one useful service.

Duncan was kneeling on the ground, holding the body of one of his men.

"No," Kareena whispered quietly. She had followed them, walking as if she were still living. She actually started weeping. Duncan couldn't see or hear her, and Venger resisted the temptation to laugh. Blending her soul with Sheila's had made her sickeningly compassionate, but her presence gave him an inspiration.

Venger reached placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder.

"This is a _war_," he said quietly. "Men die. There is no time to honor him. The only thing you can do for him now is exact revenge."

"Leave me!" Duncan growled, shaking off his hand.

"For a moment only," Venger answered, as he moved to reenter the tent. "We must go. Dungeon Master's agents know where we are."

He managed not to laugh, but once out of sight, it was impossible not to smile. Kareena said nothing, but looked at him with an expression of horror and loathing. The sister he remembered would have approved. She had always preferred subtle manipulation. Now, she was so pathetic.

"You've become a coward," he told her in a low voice. "Her soul has tainted yours. You've weakened her, and I can crush what remains of her spirit whenever I choose. She hasn't the strength to resist me. Your refusal to help me only condemns her to her fate. They will all die, because of her."

He stared at her harshly and twisted his mouth into a satisfied sneer.

"Because of _you._ Even now, knowingly or not, she already serves me well."

He held up the locket. The look of shock on Kareena's face was more than enough reward for the day's efforts.

"_You_ can't help her. Dungeon Master couldn't help her. She is _mine,_" he said emphatically, "and now because of her, Duncan will serve me."

"Brother, be wary. Day by day, you march forward to your own doom," Kareena whispered, empty and despairing.

He smiled viciously at her as she vanished.

Kareena's platitudes were worth even less than their father's had been. Their father was dead, and forever beyond his reach, so his favorite pupils would suffer in his stead. Especially _her._

Sheila would never allow her brother to be harmed, but she would have never tried to kill Duncan before Kareena gave the girl a part of herself. Now, he knew her, he knew his sister, all too well. His plan to use Sheila against Duncan had worked out even better than he could have ever dreamed.

The pupils of Dungeon Master would destroy each other, and provide him with everything he had ever needed in the process.

He left the tent to rejoin Duncan.

There was only one detail left, that a simple polymorph spell and the convenient placement of this necklace would rectify. For now, everyone, especially Sheila and the Barbarian, would have to believe that Duncan had died here, that she had killed him. There must be no doubt.

Soon, everything would be ready.

* * *

It took her longer that she expected to find Bobby and the others in the dark. As she stumbled toward the warm light of their campfire, she took the risk of reaching out toward them. As her senses swept over their camp, she felt fear and worry. Bobby was very upset, but he was all right. She sighed in relief.

_Thank heavens, they're all right._

While she had been healing, she hadn't been able to mask their presence from Venger or anyone else.

Kareena's spell had never been removed. It was still strong enough to heal her when she needed it, but every time it did, it weakened her, and left her recent memories jumbled. The side effects had lessened over time, but everything after last night was lost in a haze. She was so tired that she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

Eric was standing guard in the shadows, a dozen yards directly ahead, trying to be silent as he stood guard. He didn't know she was there yet. For only a moment, she was tempted to slip past him, but she discarded the idea.

"Eric," she called quietly. She didn't want to shout, and startle him. He didn't answer. _"Eric!"_ she said a little louder.

She heard him move toward her, trying to be stealthy. _As if you can sneak about in plate mail!_

"Sheila?" his voice came out of the dark, nervous and uncertain. She almost expected to see the boy she remembered, not the man he was now as she came close enough for him to see her in the faint moonlight.

"Yes, it's just me."

"What's the matter with you? You worried everyone to death, especially Bobby," he said irritably, "sneaking off like that. Where have you been all this time?"

"I...was scouting ahead. Making sure we were safe," she said finally. "I wasn't able to get back until now."

She hated herself for lying, but what was she going to say? _ I can't even remember how long I've been gone. _ She didn't know how she was going to explain her absence, but at least she would be able to remember something eventually.

_Something was very wrong. _

She could hear it in Eric's voice. He was exhausted, angry, and...afraid. He didn't put away the sword he was holding, but walked with her back to their campsite.

"She's back," he called out to the others.

_He's afraid of me? Why in all the Realm would he be afraid of me?_

As her eyes adjusted to the light of the small campfire, she noticed that the others were nowhere to be seen. Only Diana was within the fire's light. The Acrobat was stirring the contents of a small iron pot over the flames, paying no attention to her or Eric. The silence was eerie, and uncomfortable.

"Where is everyone?" she asked finally.

_Where are Hank, Bobby and Terri?_

Diana looked up, and she didn't need to use magic to see something between fear and disgust on the face of her oldest friend. Suddenly, Hank stepped out of the dark, and grabbed her arm. She tried, but couldn't pull away.

"Hank, let go of my arm. You're _hurting_ me," she said in surprise, more than pain.

"Take off the Cloak, Sheila," he told her. Hank's voice actually startled her, and she jumped. If it wasn't for the fact that she had been looking at him when he said it, she wouldn't have recognized his voice at all. It was strained, cold, and scared to death.

She had never seen him like this. Hank's warm blue eyes were now as cold as winter. He'd never looked at her like that before, as if she was someone else. He was looking at her as if she was an enemy.

"Take it off," Hank repeated, squeezing harder. "Please," he said softly, almost a whisper. His eyes were no longer cold. They suddenly were pleading with her, and she couldn't refuse.

She unhooked the clasp, and pushed it off her shoulders, and let it fall.

It was difficult, seeing him, Bobby, and the others so much older than she remembered, so changed. Their eyes were still the same, and that fact made seeing them again easier to accept. In their eyes, she could see the friends, the family, that she knew and loved. It was also painful, because she knew that they saw only what they wanted to see in her. Right now, she wondered if she too had been blind.

_Did I see only what I wanted to see?_

Eric picked it up, and passed it to Diana, who pressed one corner of the Cloak against a piece of cloth she held in the opposite hand. As soon as they touched, they flowed together until they were whole, seamless.

Diana was silently crying, but she nodded to someone behind her in the dark.

Bobby stepped into light. He didn't look well, and Terri was holding onto his right arm. Bobby's eyes were as cold was Hank's, and his face was a mask. It was utterly calm, devoid of any feeling at all, but she knew him well enough to see the terrible pain just beneath the surface.

He looked at her once, and then shook his head. "Sister or not, I don't know you anymore," he said, as he looked at the locket in the firelight.


	10. Playing the Game of Pawns, Part 1

_Chapter Ten: __**Playing the Game of Pawns, Part 1**_

She stared at Bobby in the dim orange light of Diana's cooking fire. He wasn't Bobby, at least, not the Bobby that she knew. Bobby was an angry little boy, not this middle aged man standing in front of her with several days' worth of a beard covering his face.

Several heartbeats passed between them without speaking, and the night breeze continued to racing though the long grass. The song of the insects and the crackle of their small fire paid no attention as she struggled with herself to respond to the condemnation that she saw on his face. Bobby was the only family her shattered mind could remember. He just stood there, staring at her with a lost and tortured gaze that undermined her every defense. She didn't know how to respond.

_Sister or not, I don't know you anymore._

Yesterday, in an angry fit of conscience, she had tried to warn him, but she didn't do what she should have. She should have explained everything, but instead she had let her own selfish desires get in the way. She told herself that she wanted to spare him from unnecessary pain. The truth was that she wanted her little brother back. She wanted to feel connected, to have a family again, even when she knew that the only way that was possible was to lie – or at least not tell him everything.

Any hope that she had left shattered to pieces. _I never wanted to hurt him. _She forced herself to set aside her own anguish. Bobby had led her to find them, and he still needed her help.

"How did Duncan get _this_?_" h_e demanded, dangling the locket he was holding inches from her face. His face hardened, and she felt the waves of anger that emanated from him. "It vanished when we were first transported to the Realm! Don't lie or play dumb. If you really _are_ Sheila, then you _owe_ me that much."

"Bobby, I honestly don't know."

He scowled at her, and she backed up half a step.

"I swear I don't know! I don't even remember _having _a locket, much less losing it!" She saw the doubt in his eyes. _Duncan had it? How could he possibly have something of mine?_

She had time to imagine what might have happened on her walk back, and now Bobby gave life to her thousand fears. Duncan had attacked them, and somehow, she had been separated. She didn't even know if they were still in danger. Only one thing was certain. Duncan was not close enough for her to feel his presence.

_Why did Bobby and the others leave me behind?_

She felt a cold shiver down her spine. They had thought she was dead, and they had fled. That explained why they were so hostile and now doubted her identity, but why did they stay here? No, Eric had expected her back. He had been watching for her. _What happened?_

"Bobby," she paused to choose her words carefully, "I promise you, I swear, that I'm not an impostor. I'm not. I don't know what you mean. I don't know why that is so important, and I can't even remember anything about today at all."

"Right, you don't remember anything. Amnesia." Eric sarcastically muttered. "I _forgot_."

Bobby's anger turned toward the Cavalier and the sword that was still in the Eric's hand. "Eric, shut up, and put that away." Eric hesitated, as if he was gauging her intentions. "I SAID PUT IT AWAY!" Bobby roared. "She can't hurt us without the Cloak. Don't be an asshole."

Eric grumbled, but slid the sword back into the scabbard at his waist without further protest.

She didn't want to believe that Eric would have actually hurt her, but the sight of that blade in his hands had made her nervous. "Hurt you?" she exclaimed without thinking, "No! Bobby, I'd rather die first." His face contorted in agony. "I – I'm sorry, Bobby. You know what I meant. I will try to answer your questions. Just please, everyone calm down."

"_Why_ don't you remember?" Bobby's tone clearly doubtful, but at least he was giving her a chance.

She bit her lip. There was no way around it. "Kareena," she said finally.

"You said she was dead," Eric announced.

"She is." She closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about it. "She is dead, and because of that, she never removed the spell that she put on me. It's the same one that she used to bring me back that day, all those years ago. It healed me today, but my memory is gone because of it. I don't know what happened or why."

"Bullshit," Eric declared.

She took a deep breath. Hank still held her arm, but she stepped sideways into the full light of the fire.

Bobby's eyes went wide, and his face became a mask of horror. Eric was staring at her side. She had tried to carefully conceal the damage to her clothes, so that it wouldn't be seen in the dark, but it wasn't enough after they made her remove her Cloak. Before she could say another word, Hank had scooped her up, and set her down into a sitting position as gently as possible.

"I'm all right," she told him, but Hank completely ignored her feeble attempts to push his hands away, as he frantically ripped open the slash in her ragged smock, and then the chemise underneath. "I _said_ I'm all right!"

Bobby was shaking as Hank wiped away some of the dried blood, examining her side. She wasn't bleeding. Her clothes were bloodstained, but there was nothing to see, only unbroken skin.

"I'm fine!" she muttered, arranging what remained of her ravaged clothes into some form of dignity. It was directed at Hank, but Bobby was the one stung by her anger. _He doesn't understand. He's in shock. _She tried to think of something to say. "Bobby," she said carefully, forcing away her own fear, by trying to sound as calm as her jangled nerves could manage. "I'm all right."

Bobby nodded slowly. The fear and concern on his face vanished, leaving only resignation and pain, as if even just looking at her had become a burden. The short distance between them became an impassible wall.

Whatever he thought he knew, telling him the entire truth now would only make things far, far worse. What could she say? If she told him that she wasn't Sheila or Kareena, but both, any chance to help him would be gone. He was so angry... Even if he did believe her, and let her help him, the others might never take the chance. Kareena had lied to them outright. Worse, she had been _Venger's_ sister. Even if Bobby believed the best of it, how could he not think that she was insane?

Bobby didn't answer her unspoken question. "You don't know how you were hurt. This has happened _before_, hasn't it?"

She nodded fearfully.

"For all those years, we fought to keep the Weapons out of Venger's hands, because we _knew_ what someone like him would do if he _ever_ got his hands on them." His voice was bitter. _He's comparing me to Venger?_ She couldn't protest. All that she could do was stare at him with her heart in her throat. "I asked you once: 'Why us? Why did Dungeon Master give them to us, instead of someone else more important?' You told me: 'Because he trusted _us_ to do the _right_ thing.' We were supposed to use them to help people."

_What was he thinking that she had done before? _"Bobby," she swallowed. "What happened? _What did I do?_"

"Duncan," he said emptily, his agony complete. Bobby's accusation left her stunned. "You killed him, before we could stop you. You _killed_ a man, _on purpose!_ When I was a kid, _you_ told me that it was _wrong_. I always believed in you. I always trusted you. I -" He shook his head.

She knew that she should feel something, anything, but she was numb: an empty shell. _Duncan is dead?_ There had been many times that she had wished it so, but she didn't believe in revenge. "No." She shook her head. "No, I don't believe you."

"I _saw_ you do it."

_He saw - ? He was wrong._ He had to be. He still speaking to her, but she didn't hear him. She didn't want to hear him. Her heart was suddenly racing. She didn't want to believe the horror that she saw on his face, but _Bobby_ would never lie to her.

For almost two hundred years, she had buried her feelings, hidden them away. She had built a wall around her heart - that nothing, no one, no hurt - could ever hope to breach. It was impregnable. It could not fall, but now it came crashing down, as everything fell apart. She wanted to curl up as tightly as she could. She wanted to cease to exist. She wanted to die. She had done something so terrible, so awful, that there was no possibility of forgiveness.

She was trying to speak, to deny it, but her mouth couldn't form coherent words any longer. She could see the truth in all of their faces: Bobby, Hank, Eric, Diana, even Terri. Contradictions closed in about her, blocking every escape. She had taken a life. It undermined the very center of her being, tore apart every ounce of certainty that she had always tried desperately cling to, to keep the tortured guilt of Kareena's memories at bay. _I'm not her! I'm not a killer! I'm not her! _

Every time that Kareena's magic brought her back, the line between her own identity and Kareena's blurred just a little more. She knew what she would do _anything_ to protect them. She had killed Duncan, and couldn't even remember! She wasn't sure _why_. If she couldn't remember why she had done it, then she couldn't afford to trust herself any longer. She couldn't gamble with Bobby's life. _What if I hurt Bobby next? I can't stay here!_

She was to her feet in an instant, but Hank blocked her attempt to flee. He seized her around the waist, and held her fast. "Let... let me...go!" she screamed hysterically.

"Stop it!" Hank demanded, loosening his grip to snatch one wrist, then the other, so that she could no longer batter at him futilely with her fists. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe! Her vision started to swim, and what little strength she had left evaporated.

"Sheila, calm down. Breathe."

Hank's grip was an iron manacle. There was no way that she could free herself. She hadn't the strength any longer.

_Duncan!_

A huge sob wracked her body. It exploded from the bottom of her soul. She gave in, and he held her for a long time as she wept quietly in the dark.

* * *

How Maggot made this place his home was beyond his comprehension.

The catacombs beneath the Palace were made of dark, cold, and miserable stone that stank of mold and age. Magnus stepped though dark carefully, using the light from the sphere in his hand to guide his way. He stepped around icy puddles, formed from water that had turned black as it leeched minerals from the stone above.

He swept the cobwebs out of his path with a simple gesture, and entered the chamber that was their agreed upon meeting place for the month. He closed his hand around the glass sphere, extinguishing its light. All that he could do now was wait.

Maggot was a broker of information, and nothing passed within a hundred leagues of him that the man did not have some knowledge of. No one could hide a secret from him. His network of informants was everywhere, even far beyond the borders of Kadish herself. How he managed such an organization in his self imposed exile, Magnus couldn't fathom, even with magic. Still, Maggot was useful, and so Magnus took great pains to ensure that he remained alive and indebted, by occasionally eliminating the man's current rivals. Nevertheless, for all his efforts, Maggot chose to remain hidden. Either one of his own would take revenge for selling them out, or others on both sides of the law would try to claim the various rewards for proof of his death. No one wanted him alive.

Maggot knew far too many secrets.

To simply leave the kingdom had never occurred to him. Magnus had pointed out the obvious, but Maggot had simply laughed. The very idea was worse than a death sentence. A man like Maggot would always be looking over his shoulder, no matter where he went. If he couldn't be at the center of everything, spinning his webs of deceit and distrust, then his life was not with living anyway.

He had sought protection, and Magnus had offered a solution: the dark, narrow chambers hidden deep below the east foundations of the Palace itself. No one had used those cells for prisoners in centuries, and it was there that the spymaster could make his permanent abode in safety.

No one, not even the High King himself, knew of the arrangement. Only Magnus knew where Maggot could always be found. In exchange for this protection, Maggot told him everything he wished to hear, with the tacit understanding that Magnus would not sell the information himself.

"Good evening, Magnus," a warm, cultured voice whispered out of the dark, startling him.

"How did you know it was evening, Maggot?" he asked irritably, trying to recover his composure.

"I know many things, old friend."

"_Friend?" _Magnus asked incredulously. "A friend implies a measure of trust, but you won't even let me see your face."

"You know quite well Magnus, that I do not trust anyone. Not even you," Maggot said reproachfully. "That does not mean that we cannot recognize our long standing arrangement, and show appropriate respect."

Magnus grimaced in the dark. The man's false courtesies made him ill.

"Did your meeting with the Council go well?"

"How -"

"I have eyes and ears _everywhere_, Magnus. Not even _you_ are entirely beyond my reach."

"_Never_ threaten me," he whispered coldly.

He wasn't actually angry, but surprised. Rather than show it, he was attempting to direct the conversation away from the fact that Maggot slipped up. It was seldom indeed that Maggot made such a mistake. In his overweening pride, and desire for his own advancement, he had revealed something important to Magnus without realizing it. _Maggot has someone inside the Council Chamber. One of the guards, or perhaps even one of the Acolytes?_

"Threaten _you_?" Maggot's voice actually sounded surprised at the suggestion. "No, I do not threaten you." His voice laughed. "No. Before you conjure a thousand fears of me subverting someone within your inner circles, you should know that your robes stink of the incense used in the Council Chamber."

Magnus grimaced.

"Do not patronize me, Maggot. Why did you summon me here? I have matters that require my attention, even at this hour."

"_Very_ well, then. No pleasantries," Maggot sighed, answering in a disappointed voice. "Our arrangement provides me with a safe haven. It _would_ be amusing to get some of your most trusted underlings to work for me, but I keep my word. You keep yours only so long as I am useful to you. I haven't forgotten that. Thus, I am well motivated, and this information affects your position..."

"Well?" Magnus muttered impatiently.

"That sodden fool, Arlaren, convinced the lady Merinia to quietly send one of the College to the meeting with Venger, against the wishes of the Council."

Magnus had already known, but he made another show of anger for the other's sake. "Damn him, and his constant interference!"

"Indeed. Too bad that the emissary's report never reach her or the Archmage," Maggot continued. "I hear the Songweaver had a most unfortunate encounter, but not before he confided in someone I sent to welcome him. A shame, really. It _was_ a perfect cover, if somewhat predictable. The purposes of traveling minstrels are never questioned. Even if his mission was discovered, you wouldn't have been able to prove a thing. I tried to inform you sooner, but you didn't come...I could deal with Arlaren for you," Maggot continued cheerfully. "One of my associates is well versed in herb lore. Arlaren is an old man, full in his years. No one would suspect anything if he were to go to sleep one night, and never wake."

Magnus imagined Maggot rubbing his hands together with the childlike eagerness in his voice, but he had no intention of allowing anyone to poison the old man. Arlaren still useful. The old man was predictable, and a known quantity. Predictability was essential to maintaining stability. Moreover, given the proper incentive, Arlaren could be manipulated into doing exactly what Magnus wished without realizing it. As he had in this case.

"I'll deal with him myself soon enough. Well done, nonetheless. Is that all?"

"No, the Heroes have returned."

Maggot delivered that earth shattering revelation as casually as the weather. He knew perfectly well that it was anything but. They were called "The Heroes" for a reason! The Weapons they possessed would change the balance of power that Magnus had been cultivating for so many years!

In spite of his best efforts, Magnus was beside himself for several moments.

_So, that was it. _He had felt the disruption of a portal, but had disregarded this as a possibility._ Dungeon Master? No, not him. He had the power, certainly, but not the knowledge. Even if he had, he wouldn't take the risk. _The amount of magic that it would take to form a new breach in the barrier between the two worlds was beyond the knowledge of any living mage, except perhaps his only rival.

_Venger. How? _Dungeon Master had sealed the last of the portals to their world himself. Magnus recovered quickly, hoping that Maggot was oblivious to his distraction. "_Impossible!_" he spat.

Maggot's voice was amused, self satisfied and smug at his loss for words. "Apparently not."

"Are you certain of this?"

"_Really_, Magnus! Don't be insulting. Do you really think that I would endanger our arrangement by _not_ being certain?"

_This cannot be a coincidence! However this happened, Dungeon Master is certain to take advantage of the situation. He is always one move ahead. I cannot allow them to interfere!_

* * *

She gently pulled away, putting some space between them, as she wiped away the last of the embarrassing tears. Like Bobby, Hank's face might have been made from stone. "Are you all right?" he asked finally.

She shook her head. She couldn't trust herself to speak. Answering him would mean that this was real and not another nightmare. For as long as she could remember, she had had nightmares. The nightmares that were not nightmares at all, but memories. _Kareena's memories._ They were terrible visions of all of the awful things that she had done in her struggle for power. She remembered all the people that she – no, Kareena - had hurt, and killed. She had witnessed it all through Kareena's eyes, as if they were her own. She felt Kareena's feelings. She had - Kareena had - enjoyed watching others suffer. The nightmares had tortured her since the day she had died.

Now, she felt as if Kareena had finally won the battle for her sanity.

She had sworn to herself that she would never become the monster that lived on in the depths of her mind. Kareena's memories were an echo of another person, someone else who was long dead. _I am not her! _ Yet, should couldn't dismiss it, couldn't convince entirely herself that it was still true. _Duncan tried to kill my brother! He deserved it...and I killed him. _Shame burned her soul. _What makes me any better than her? _She refused the inevitable answer. _I am not Kareena!_

The others had left her and Hank alone, and withdrawn to the far side of the fire. They were talking amongst themselves in whispers so she couldn't hear. She watched as Bobby turned to answer his wife.

_His wife. He's grown up. He isn't my little brother anymore. He's married and has a family of his own, even a daughter. _She shook her head slowly. _I should have stayed away, far away. I knew there was a risk. All of this is my fault. Duncan... _Thoughts of Presto's great-grandson no longer brought rage. All that she had left now were terrible regrets that crushed her spirit to dust. When she saw his face in her mind, it wasn't the face of the man that she had grown to despise. Instead, she saw the angry boy that she had tried to save from the fire that killed his family. _You've finally become the monster you've always feared that you might be. _She wanted to just forget everything all over again.

"They don't trust you," Hank warned her, watching her gaze.

_Nothing more or less than what I deserve. "_You don't either."

He looked at her, and shook his head. "I want to."

"I don't blame you," she said. "If I were you, I wouldn't."

"Why? I understand why you did what you did, but that's not something that I would have expected you to do." He was searching her face for an explanation. "You're a better person than that."

"No, I'm not," she whispered. She couldn't trust herself now, but there was no one else to guide them. If what Bobby had told her was true, they had no time to spare. Dungeon Master was dying. There was only one thing she could do. She would have to keep her senses long enough to finish what she had started. She had to warn them about herself. She had no choice now. She couldn't risk their safety for her own comfort. She had to tell them the truth.

She looked at Hank. It was the first time that she really _looked_ at him. She couldn't bring herself to earlier. Not really. She saw him without really seeing him. She didn't want to acknowledge that so much time had passed. She could see so much of the Henry Garrett that she remembered in the face of the man he had become. Like looking at Bobby, it was very unsettling.

He was different. Hank was still handsome, recognizable, but so stern, so hard. He drove himself, pushed his own feelings away, and put others before himself. The cares were deeply etched in his features, and the lines around his eyes. There was nothing but loss in those deep blue gray eyes. He had worn a perpetual frown constantly since she had first seen him in the clearing. Hank had become a lonely man who forgotten how to smile, how to laugh. Life had beaten the joy out of him, and it broke her heart.

She didn't want to add to his burdens, but she couldn't lie. "You don't even know me anymore."

"That's not true. I _do_ know you. I shouldn't trust you," he said, "but I have to try. I _need_ to." His voice was quiet, but tense. "I can't believe that you didn't mean well in some twisted way."

She could hear the blame in his voice. _Or was it guilt? _He still loved her, even after all this time, even after what she had done. She turned away. She couldn't look at him. "Please, listen to me!" _I'm not the Sheila you love. "_You can't afford to."

Hank gave her a pained look, and she paused. Bobby and the others were watching, listening to every word.

Her brother took a tree branch from their small pile of fuel near the fire as he moved closer, and then sat down. It had been hacked away from one of the solitary trees near their camp. He snapped it in half with a loud crack, and angrily shoved it into the fire. She glanced at Bobby's face, and wished she hadn't.

"You really didn't know," he stated, not sounding entirely convinced. "You are telling the truth. You don't remember what you did."

The Bobby she knew would have been furious with her, but the man speaking to her was calm – calm, cold, and feeling as if she had betrayed him. She didn't need magic. She could read it in his face. He was Bobby, her brother! This was worse, far worse than what she had expected. She was prepared for his anger, but not this. She knew that on some level, he blamed himself, instead of her.

_No, Bobby! It's not your fault! _"No. I don't remember, and now I never want to."

"If that's true, then why did you try to run off?" Diana's voice was strangely empathic.

"It's obvious! She panicked. The question is why!" Eric scowled. "Our ending up here in the Realm wasn't an accident this time. Someone brought us back here on purpose." He glared at her. "Who was it? Was it you?"

"Eric, stop it." Diana grimaced. "This isn't helping."

She was oddly grateful for Eric's anger, and she grasped it as if it was a lifeline in an ocean of guilt. She understood and welcomed anger, even hatred. It was forgiveness or pity that she couldn't bear. She didn't deserve either. "Of course not! I don't know why you are here, Eric," she said quietly. "I'm _not_ Dungeon Master."

"Obviously," he scoffed, "but I wondered if you were for a while." Everyone looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not an idiot." he told them. "The last time we spoke with him it wasn't cordial. So he pretends to be her. He can shapeshift as easily as Venger, and he knows enough about us to pass himself off." He turned his attention back to her. "You found us, in the middle of nowhere. You knew _exactly_ where to look. You knew Duncan was after us. It made sense, but after you snuck off to help kill Duncan, I realized that I was wrong. Dungeon Master didn't have to kill people. He was so powerful that he wouldn't have even _considered_ it. He could afford to hold the moral high ground and not get his hands dirty. That's why he needed us for all those years: to do his dirty work. The thing that bothers me is that the Sheila I remember would go to any lengths to protect her little brother, but she wouldn't kill Duncan."

"What is your point, Eric?" Bobby growled.

"My _point _is that even invisible, we know she had help to kill Duncan's men. You saw the bodies, Hank." He looked at the Ranger.

Hank nodded as he turned to her. "We found Duncan's camp this morning. The men who tried to kill us a few days ago were there - the ones who cut Terri's arm. They were dead. Everyone was dead." He glanced at Eric. "I think you are wrong. We don't know what happened for sure. Maybe they simply killed each other, and she was not involved."

"Right," Eric snorted, as he turned to her. "Bobby says he saw you kill Duncan. You say you can't tell us what happened. I don't believe you." He looked at everyone, but particularly Hank. "How can we possibly trust her now if there is even a chance that she is working with people who tried to kill us?"

Hank abruptly got up. "Eric," he warned ominously.

"She needs to tell us what happened. I don't believe this amnesia business." Eric's face was iron. "Did those tattooed men work for you? Did you send them to kill us, and then suddenly show up to make friends with us again after they couldn't finish the job?"

"_No!"_

In a heartbeat, Bobby was to his feet. He seized the front of Eric's tunic and hauled the smaller man into the air. "Shut up, Eric!" Hank moved toward them. "Back off, Hank. He's asking for it. This is something long overdue."

Hank shrugged. "Go ahead. I warned him not to run his theory past you. Maybe you can knock some sense into his thick head," the Ranger agreed. "I tried. It didn't take."

Eric gave Hank a hard look that bordered on hatred.

"Bobby, don't!" She jumped to her feet. _Stop this! You're friends! _It was because of her. All of this was because of her. "Don't hurt him! He's right!_" _

Everyone was staring at her now, but Bobby...Bobby's face was simultaneously shocked, afraid, and horribly betrayed all at once. The agony in his eyes was unimaginable. She couldn't bear to look at him, but she couldn't turn away.

"No!" she said as soon as she could find her voice. "I'd never try to hurt you! But...he's right...you can't afford to trust me either..." She slumped back into a sitting position, and she felt hot tears streaming down her face again. She didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. After this, she would lose Bobby and the others forever. There was no going back. She couldn't look at them, any of them, and still say what she knew she had to. None of them. Especially not Bobby.

"Bobby, put him down... Put him down," she heard Terri tell him softly. "Sheila." Her tone hardened. "If you have something to say, you'd better say it now."

"When...Kareena brought me back," she swallowed, "she put a part of herself _inside_ me. I...I...I have some of her memories, but it's more than that. It's hard to put into words," she admitted. "I'm not the same person you knew. You _can't_ trust me. "

It was Eric that spoke first. His tone was oddly curious. "What are you saying? That you are insane?"

She almost laughed. "I don't _think_ so," she confessed, "but you have to understand. I am as much Kareena as I am Sheila – _part_ of both, and all of _neither_. Sheila didn't kill people. Kareena did. I'm still enough of myself that I...won't kill people. If I did kill Duncan, and can't remember, then I can't even trust myself."

Someone next to her was trying to reach around her shoulders, to comfort her, and she pushed them away angrily. "_Don't_," she drew in sharp breath. "I don't want your _pity_."

"Easy, Sheila."

"Don't call me _Sheila_!" She looked up her would be savior. Bobby was holding his hands out in front of her.

"Easy...You're my _sister_. No matter what Kareena did to you." Bobby's face was fearful, and his tone was patronizing. He was treating her as if she were mad. No, not mad, _broken_. Just as she feared he would. "You're alive. It doesn't matter, Sh -" he told her. "What should we call you?"

She didn't deign to answer. "What do you _want, Robert?_ _Remorse? _I have _one hundred and eighty-nine years_ of regrets! I think that's more than enough." Her tone stung him implicitly, especially when she knew he only wanted to help her. She didn't care. She had to hold on to her bitter anger. It gave her the strength she needed to look him in the eye. He was staring at her again. They all were. She shook her head. "No, you want the _truth_. Well? _Ask. Get it over with_," she snapped. "_Do it_."

He took a deep breath and stepped back. "All right."

Bobby's voice was desperate. He needed her to tell him something, anything that would give him some small measure of hope that she was Sheila he knew. He wasn't looking for the truth. He didn't believe her. He thought she was out of her mind.

"You really don't remember anything about today?"

"I _told_ you I don't!" Bobby glanced at the Cavalier. "No matter what Eric thinks, I'd never send someone to hurt you either. _Ever._"

"How did you know Duncan was even after us?"

"I overheard him and Shadow Demon talking about all of you after that meeting."

"You were there?" Bobby was aghast. "For god's sake, why didn't you show yourself?"

"Because I was busy. I drew his men out of the valley. Did you really think that he sent his men away to make you feel better? Did you honestly think he was going to _let_ you justwalk away? Bobby, don't be so naive! As much as Venger hates all of you, he hates me far worse. I haven't been living in another world somewhere. He still wants _that_." She pointed at the folded Cloak that Diana was carrying.

"How did you find us?"

"I can sense your presence. You are my brother. Following you was as easy as pie."

"Magic? How could you - "

"_Kareena_," she finished for him, almost grinding her teeth. "_I told you_ she left a part of herself behind, in _me_."

"Who told you we were in the Realm?" Terri's tone wasn't hostile or even frightened. The strangely tranquil and unfocused gaze in her icy blue eyes was unnerving.

"No one needed to. Portals between two worlds aren't exactly an everyday affair. I _felt_ you arrive. So did Dungeon Master, so did Venger, and at least a half dozen others scattered all over the Realm."

Bobby's wife looked at her for a long moment. "It's you, isn't it? You were the one we were supposed to find. You are Dungeon Master's 'last student.'"

"Yes! Are you _satisfied?_ Anyone else?"

No one spoke up.

She managed to slowly get to her feet, holding together the torn remains of her clothes. She forced herself to stand up straight. Inside she was flying apart, but she turned her back, and tried to walk away with as much remaining dignity as her years of training in Kadish could provide. She pulled it around her heart like armor.

"Where are you going?" Bobby demanded hotly.

There was something else in his voice, something that froze her in her tracks. Fear. Whether he knew it or not, Bobby the little boy was still in there, and her heart still couldn't refuse him. Bobby.

"Nowhere. I'm tired," she said with a forced calm, glancing at the tear bunched together in her left hand, "and I need some spare clothes."

"Stay here. I'll get them," Diana said.

She felt Bobby's large hand on her right arm, and he spun her around. "Let me go, Bobby. _Please._"

He pressed the locket into her hand, and closed her fingers around it. "No, I can't. Don't walk away," he begged her. "_Please, don't. _I can't bear to lose you again. Sis, _please_..." His anger was gone. "Let me help you."

"It's too late for that, little brother." She shook her head. "You can't help me. _No one_ can. Not Dungeon Master, not even you. The only thing I can do now is get you safely to him, so that you can go home."

"You can't," Bobby said solemnly. He stopped himself before he said more.

"Why not?" she demanded. "Bobby..."

"He's dead."

"No..." Her heart felt as if it had stopped, and she stumbled backward. She was too late. "How do you -?"

"He tried to stop you from killing Duncan by warning me in my dreams, but the strain was too much. I don't know how I know, but he's gone."

She hadn't just killed Duncan. In trying to protect them, she had destroyed their last hope, their _only_ hope. Bobby and the others were trapped here. Without Dungeon Master to keep Venger in check, nothing could stop Venger from taking over the _entire_ Realm. She had not only condemned Bobby and her friends to share in her own fate, but she had condemned countless _innocent_ people: _an entire world_, and all the generations to come after into slavery.

_I've killed my own father!_

She dropped the locket. It had burned her hand! She stared at the red imprint that it had burned into her blistered palm. _What?_

Completely unaware of her turmoil, Bobby calmly reached down to pick up the locket for her.

_No!_

She shoved him away as hard as she could, and snatched it away before it could harm him. She screamed as she felt it burn deeper into her flesh. Its heat flowed down her arm, burning her skin. Her chest suddenly tightened, and her heart felt like it was going to burst.

She flung it as hard and as far as she could into the darkness.

She felt her body convulse, and she fell to her knees. Her insides were liquid fire. Kareena's magic was seething under her skin: boiling, burning, searing hot - forcing its way to the surface. Refusing to be contained and completely out of her control, it was demanding escape.

She screamed in agony as it burst free, shattering the night.

* * *

Magnus stumbled in surprise. The feeling came from nowhere. _It can't be! She's dead!_

"Alysebeth..." he whispered involuntarily with hatred. He turned and left immediately, not caring to hear if Maggot had more to tell.

Magnus hurried up though the myriad of dank passageways, until he exited out of the passage into the Gardens. He ignored the scents of wild jasmine and wolander flowers, the marble lattices interwoven with thick, green moskar vines, and the fountain's crystal spray of precious water. Not even the full moon and the cool night winds from the desert distracted him. The natural beauty all around him was of no interest. He began to pace back and forth angrily, his thoughts running rampant.

_She's alive! _ _Why hadn't she found him before now? Perhaps she has lost her memory again. If so, it explained much. Why she had chosen now, after all these years, to show herself?_

_Her brother. Is she a threat to my plans? _

There was no way to know for certain what she or her brother would do. In any case, without knowing where she was, there was nothing he could do about her at the moment.

Magic itself was commonplace, although its skilled practitioners were only a tiny percentage of the entire population. The strongest of them went through considerable trouble to make certain that remained that way. His kind made tenuous and temporary alliances with each other at best. An ally was certain to one day be an enemy. It was wise to keep a careful watch, and make certain that one's former allies were dead before they became a problem.

_She_ was a problem.

She was far too dangerous, unpredictable, and her allegiances were too questionable. He had been so certain that she was dead. He couldn't afford to make the mistake of trusting her twice. He had already lost far too much because of her.

He had no more time to waste, and moved quickly to leave. He slowed his pace as a guard approached on his rounds.

"M'lord," the guard acknowledged in passing.

Magnus nodded and pretended to appreciate one of the plants, exercising caution out of the longstanding habit of protecting the knowledge of his guest.

He set his jaw, and then reentered the Palace near the residential corridors, where the retired members of the Arcanium made their homes in luxury with the gratitude of the Ivory Throne. No one wandered the halls at this hour except the guards, but they let him pass without challenge or concern. Magnus' habit of walking Gardens or the halls at late hours was a common sight. He had made certain of it, so that his coming and going would never be questioned. In any case, he was not headed anywhere unusual, even at this late hour.

When he reached Arlaren's outer rooms, Marda was returning with a late supper from the kitchens. He deliberately hid his concerns, pretending as if it were any other evening.

"You've been away far too often of late, Magnus," she chided with some asperity.

Marda knew that speaking to him here on the Palace grounds in that manner was inappropriate. She was deliberately breaking the rigid protocol between a common servant and master. Such impudence frequently resulted in the indignity of flogging, even in a nation as enlightened as Kadish. Tradition still demanded many things that were barbaric.

Magnus didn't care about tradition, not with her. Everyone knew how he felt, and no one dared suggest such in his presence. Marda had _earned_ the right to speak to him any way she pleased a dozen times over. In fact, he preferred it. He knew her verbal lashings were a form of love. She and her father were family of a sort: the only family he had left.

Time had been kind to her, as she had matured into middle age. In truth, she had always been very plain, but to any father, she was beautiful. In his heart, she was the daughter he had never had. He still remembered the young girl that eagerly begged him for all the stories he could find the breath to tell. She had stopped asking for stories a long time ago. Everything had changed when her mother had died. Marda had grown up overnight, leaving her childhood behind in order to care for her father.

Yes, that had been a long time ago. He had to remind himself that she was forty-five, had married well, and no longer in need of his constant concern.

She gave him a tired frown that still worried him, even after all these years. "You really do need to take better care of yourself," she sighed. "You don't look well."

"Just matters of state," he answered. "Sometimes that task is unpleasant."

"As usual, I'm sure it's nothing that will end the world, Uncle..." She grimaced, as she rearranged the contents of the serving tray to Arlaren's liking. "Men _and wizards," _she eyed him over critically, "can worry over lines on a map, argue over false courtesies, go off and fight wars, but at the end of the day, all of that doesn't bake a loaf of bread when you need to eat."

"How is Arden?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

She brightened considerably at the mention of her father. It banished the weariness from her face. Magnus allowed himself to smile at her in return.

"Father is well, and still wishing to have a drink with you when you have a mind. He likes to reminisce about the old days."

Magnus nodded. "I could use a break from the politics. I'll make a point to see him soon."

"You can only say that so many times, _Magnus, _without following through." Her tone was acid as she enunciated his name. She was very displeased with him, and each time he knew that he deserved it.

"I promise, Marda." She still believed in him, that he kept his word, because she stopped what she was doing and embraced him quickly before pulling away.

"I'll hold you to that, Uncle." Her brown eyes searched his, and for just a moment he saw the little girl that he had helped raise, not so long ago. "_Don't_ disappoint me."

"_Never_," he said, bending down to kiss her forehead. "I can't keep Arlaren waiting any longer, or he will be even more pigheaded than usual."

He didn't wait for Marda, but let himself into Arlaren's library. He knew he was expected.

Magnus ignored the room's overstated appointments, but always took a moment to admire the rows of worn leather volumes that the old man had spent his entire life accumulating. Like himself, Arlaren was interested in anything and everything - not just magic. There were treatises on art, history, religion, naturalism, and every other conceivable subject – crammed, stacked, and packed into every shelf as much as human ingenuity would permit.

_The fruits from a love of knowledge and a lifetime of labor. Worth more than any magic. Utterly priceless. _If anything happened to the old man, Magnus swore that he would make certain that Arlaren's collection was carefully preserved, and its contents used for betterment rather than destruction. He turned away regretfully and crossed the plush red Samnish rug to join the old man at the polished oak table.

The feared Archmage Arlaren, Master of the Arcanium, was in reality nothing more than a balding wisp of an old man with overly gaunt features, and a nasal voice that crackled like old leaves. He was a comic sight, lost in an oversized old fashioned blue gray robe, that had been made for him long before age had taken its toll. He still had an omnipresent beard of white three day stubble. _Marda needs to have a talk with his manservant. He could at least look presentable._

Arlaren missed nothing, or so the old man thought. Regardless of the necessity to manipulate the old wizard, Magnus made certain that he did not underestimate him. Even though Arlaren pretended to be a harmless, forgetful old man, he knew the truth. Arlaren looked old and frail, but he could easily blast a castle wall to dust with little effort. That irony wasn't lost on him.

Their latest game was weeks old, but still laid out of the table. It, like his improbable friendship with Arlaren, was a game of moves and countermoves, designed to reach a goal. Magnus considered for a moment, and then moved a piece negligently.

Marda appeared a few minutes later, as Arlaren was agonizing over his response. She left the food on a small table within reach, and then asked permission to retire for the night. As usual, Arlaren didn't even look up from the board. He just waved at hand and nodded. Marda smiled at him again, and then left.

Like the game in front of him, he'd have to proceed with exquisite care. He hadn't lived this long by being a fool. He didn't believe in coincidences. They had returned. Alysebeth's sudden reappearance was certain to be a trap. Fortunately, thanks to Maggot, he was still one step ahead.

"You made a good argument in Council today. I agree," Arlaren said without preamble. "We can't afford to trust Tardos."

Magnus looked hard at the old man, annoyed at the interruption of his thoughts. "That's not what you said in Council," he said, pretending surprise.

Arlaren didn't look at him, instead he took the Keep with his Knight. _As expected._

"That's true, but appearances are sometimes more persuasive than passion, Magnus. You came here tonight, not to finish our game, but to protest what I said. You need to recognize that a perceived obstacle can sometimes be a hidden gift. I've made hard choices for the good that have left me not well loved in many quarters. If I had agreed with you publicly, the others would have rejected your stance on principle. Better that we fortify our own position first, before we stick our heads in a lion's mouth. Perhaps, you should pay more attention to all of the pieces on the board."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, the old man's advice was sound.

"Perhaps," he agreed grudgingly.

Magnus moved his Queen to capture the Knight, appearing to be annoyed. Arlaren took the bait, as his Bishop took Magnus' errant Queen.

Alysebeth would want to reclaim her past life. Her guard would be down because of them. She was unpredictable. She would try to protect them, or to use them; and that would make it much easier for him to deal with her. Her brother could be used as a bargaining chip. She would do anything for him. She would even die for him, a second time.

_Yes, it was long past time to remove the queen from the board. This time, in a far more permanent manner._

Arlaren checkmated him three moves later. The game was over. Magnus had lost on purpose.

While the old man reset the game, Magnus helped himself to the food, then filled a cup with some of the rough liquor that Arlaren favored, and took a long pull. It helped to mollify his pride.

By allowing the old man to keep his dignity, Arlaren also kept his perception of Magnus himself. Personal pride meant little, as long as Arlaren remained in ignorance for a while longer. For now, the lack of that knowledge was all that ensured the old man was safe. Magnus was playing a dangerous game, with stakes the old man couldn't imagine. He knew better than to get attached to the pieces on the board, but he wasn't about to sacrifice a valuable piece - and a friend - on a whim.

He took another swallow, emptying the cup, and taking a breath as the amber fluid burned on the way down.

In life, one could either be a pawn or a king, and Magnus had made his choice a long time ago. Pawns didn't need to know the overall strategy, or the sacrifices that were made to further another's cause. Their lot was simply to fall, when the time was right.

_Too bad for the pawns._


	11. Playing the Game of Pawns, Part 2

Chapter Eleven: **Playing the Game of Pawns, Part 2**

Jasten Horst was just tasting the froth on his second ale of the evening.

The taproom of the Owl was filled with the stink of burning pipe smoke, and the loud voices of drovers and farmhands, all trying to find something: a joke, a story, or song, anything at the bottom of their tankards to break the monotonous day to day strain of their lives without causing trouble.

No one was fond of that. They just wanted to live their lives in peace. They had plenty of tall tales to tell, even if they were mostly utter nonsense. He was, after all, sitting near the borders of the Wilderlands, and that brought all sort of strangers passing through the village, especially the last few years.

More than a few spoke of open war.

To the north, the armies of the sorcerer Venger and the barbarian tribes were watering the earth with the other's blood. The northmen were making him pay dearly for each inevitable victory as they were gradually being overrun. To the far east, Kadish resisted with every breath. Tardos Keep was under siege. For all of Venger's vaunted power, he had far too many enemies to easily subdue them all.

As long as the fighting was far away, it left the villagers with fodder for more of their tales. More often than not, those passing through were messengers on some task for some lord that he had never heard of. They moved on just as quickly. He had seen a string of would be heroes come and go in that fashion. For all of their promises of freedom and glory, they eventually moved on too. No one listened to them. The villagers themselves were left in peace. That was all the farmers and herdsmen really wanted, beyond a good story to tell.

Despite all the machinations of wizards, warriors, and other assorted fools, the village's saving grace was the fact that all men and monsters had to eat, and so none of them damaged the farmsteads or the people unnecessarily. Even a warlord's and mage's army marched on their bellies. The villagers knew that if they kept their heads down, that they were likely to survive.

_Even they know that freedom is of no use to a corpse. They are all cattle and nothing more_, he thought sourly.

He was sitting alone, as usual. He knew he was being morose tonight. He really didn't hate them. He respected them in his own way. They lived the life they were made for. They were simple people.

He was just not one of them, and they knew it.

Certainly, he lived just outside the village, but he had been an adventurer in his younger days, before one too many wounds had taken their toll. No, he didn't regret leaving that life behind at all. He wasn't a killer. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was a healer.

He was far too valuable to the village for them to force him out, so they tolerated his presence, and the rumors that surrounded him, but he wasn't a fool. He had saved their lives, and the lives of their sons and daughters a dozen times over, but he knew that had no real friends here.

Regardless, he knew that when he stopped here thirty years ago that he had had enough of the adventuring life. It wasn't his age or a wound of the body that left him in this village. Too many friends had died in all the different places he had seen. What he had seen was more than his share of violence, of life and death. One too many.

_Pheira._

He often wondered if she would have approved of his decision to stay here, and help these people. She had always had too much passion, too much fire in her soul, to settle in a place such as this. There had always been something new beyond the horizon, and she had wanted to see it all. He had always loved her, so he had followed her, with three others - all dear friends.

All of them were dead now, and he was alone.

After Pheira was gone, he tried to find something solid and true, something worthwhile, that he could grasp and hold on to, hoping it would make a difference. He'd tried his best to live his life well. He smiled sadly. Yes, he knew in his heart that Pheira approved, just as he knew that one day he would be with her again. He held her every night in his dreams.

But Jasten Horst didn't believe in heroes anymore. Heroes didn't change the world. No one did.

In spite of all of the strange things he had seen with his own eyes, he was just as stunned as the villagers when the doors opened of their own accord, and she simply appeared out of night, sopping wet from the rainstorm that raged outside.

The dark skinned woman was probably from the South Isles, beyond the Sunet Sea, but she was dressed only in furs that covered enough for modesty's sake. She was tall for a woman: slender, more muscle than softness, and carried a rough staff. The way she held it in her hands – she knew how to use it.

"Shelter," she told Elgrist.

The bearded innkeeper wiped nervously his hands on his dirty apron. "You aren't welcome here," Elgrist told her.

_Elgrist, you fool. Just take her money, and keep your mouth shut._

Her companions burst in, and they were just as odd.

She was followed a knight in armor, whose face was a perpetual scowl. Horst didn't see a lord's sigil on his armor. A raven haired woman followed with a wounded arm that had been bandaged. She was so exhausted that she could barely walk. Behind them was a rough looking man with blond hair, dressed in leathers and green. He was one of the freefolk. His kind were common enough in the Wilderlands, bowing to no man or king, living off the land. Lastly came a barbarian in skins from the Deep North. He was_ massive_, and at least seven feet tall. He was carrying an unconscious woman wrapped in a cloak.

"I don't care. We need rooms," the dark woman said flatly. "We'll keep to ourselves, and we will pay. You can't turn us out in this weather."

He didn't know why he did it, but Horst stood up. "Elgrist, you owe me," he said aloud. "Give these people the rooms they need."

The innkeeper's face twisted in anger. "We don't want you here," he repeated. He eyed over the barbarian's burden. "We don't want trouble, or your sickness. Get out, and take her with you."

Elgrist wouldn't budge. The man's face was already set in iron.

The northman's face darkened. If he hadn't been holding his burden, Elgrist wouldn't have lived long enough to regret his stupidity. Horst detested Elgrist, but there was no reason for the man to die.

As much as common sense told Horst to turn his back, sit down, and finish his drink, he couldn't. He was healer, heart and soul. The woman in the barbarian's arms needed his art, and she was already soaked to the bone.

Horst stood, and strode directly toward the giant. The barbarian shielded her from his touch, turning her away.

"Easy, I only wish to help your friend. I'm the village healer," he explained quickly.

The northman hesitated, but then allowed him to examine her.

_Gods, she is just a girl! _She was as much a child as a woman. This was some kind of sadistic joke by fate.

Her naturally pale skin was cold and clammy, and her lips had a decidedly blue color. If it wasn't for the fact that he felt breath from her nostrils, he would have thought she was dead.

They were drenched, but the cloak she was wrapped in was completely dry. He fingered the cloth. It was soft, and it wasn't even damp. _Magic. _As soon as he touched it, he knew.

She had a Weapon of Power.

Only a handful of men and women in the Realm had ever seen one. Fewer still had actually held one in their hands. Horst had, just once, and so he knew that she was one of Dungeon Master's pupils.

He cursed vehemently under his breath. Oh, they were trouble all right, and if those beer-addled clods realized the truth about his unwanted charge, they wouldn't be safe. Everyone would see them as a means to pad their own purse by turning them over to Venger's men.

The best thing he could hope for was that she would recover enough within a day to leave, or at least have the good grace to die quickly and quietly. He prayed that whoever who would come for them wasn't the ones who did this to her. It wasn't a hope. It was a certainty. Wherever the bearer of a Weapon went, trouble was sure to follow.

"Come with me. He won't help you."

They moved her quickly to his cottage. No one said anything further as they hurried through the bad weather to his home. No one did anything to stop them. They were trouble, but he wasn't going to let her, or anyone else, die on the dirty taproom floor.

He opened the door, and hurried them into his home.

Compared to many of the villagers homes, his austere cottage was large, even spacious. He need the extra rooms to treat the injured. He quickly lit an oil lamp, and instructed the blond man to start a fire in his solitary fireplace. He had the barbarian place her in the bed in a sickroom.

Horst unwrapped the Cloak quickly. Her clothes were slashed and torn near her waist. There was blood, but no wound. The palm of her left hand had been burned by something that left an indistinct outline in her normally pale skin. He gently rolled up her sleeve. The blistering continued the entire length of her arm, until it was hidden by her clothing. It was as if someone had tried to roast her alive.

"What happened to her?" he demanded of the barbarian.

"You have to help her! She's my sister!"

"What happened?"

The man hesitated, but Horst stood firm. "If you don't tell me, I cannot help her.

"I can't explain it...I don't know what happened myself. She just collapsed."

_So, she is a mage._ The boy was rightfully cautious. Horst considered carefully for only a moment. Mage or not, she was badly hurt. If he had any sense, he should never brought them here, but he kept imagining Pheira in the girl's place. "What's your name, boy?"

"Robert," he said angrily.

"Robert, there is nothing I can do for your sister, unless you tell me everything, and do it now. She's very weak. She many even die."

After the barbarian finished, Horst didn't believe it. Not a word.

"I need to get her out of these clothes and warm as soon as possible. Send in one of your women to watch if you don't trust me examine her."

The man hesitated again.

"_Move_, boy!"

The raven haired woman entered moments later. To her credit, she asked no questions the entire time. She helped undress the girl and covered her with a blanket.

"I'll tend the girl, and then we'll see about your arm."

The girl's breathing was slow, but even, but she wasn't conscious. There was no sign of illness or a blow to the head. He didn't know what to do for her. He started to wrap her hand and arm in salved bandages, when the child began to toss madly about, as if she were in a fevered delirium.

Suddenly, light filled the room. A warm golden light shined from under her pale skin, outlining her body as if she were made of sunlight rather than flesh and blood.

"Get out!" he yelled as he shoved the woman bodily toward the door.

A violent, freezing blast of wind swept from the sickroom though the entire cottage, extinguishing the candles, scattering items, and causing everyone to recoil in instinctive fear. It brushed past him, whispering softly to him by name as if it were his lover.

_Jasten._

It was there for only a moment, and then it was gone. Horst shook his head in stark fear as his breath steamed in the air.

It was Death.

* * *

_A deathly cold mist surrounded her. The touch of death. A familiar voice. Dungeon Master._

"_You are the last hope. There is no going back... Fate cannot be stopped... Go to the Valley of the Unicorns. Find the Eye of Merlin."_

"_Sheila! Nnnnoooo!__"_

"_Welcome back, sister." Venger smiled at her._

She bolted upright into a sitting position, fully awake.

"Bobby!" she croaked. Her mouth was as parched as the sands of Kadish. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and her chemise stuck to her skin, soaked with a cold sweat. She gulped in air, and hugged herself, shivering. This time, she had felt it. Death had reached out to take her. This time, it didn't let go.

_Another nightmare. Just another nightmare._

Thunder and the sound of heavy rain battered the roof.

She pushed the damp hair out of her face. She was in the dark, but she knew that she in a bed, covered with a rough, somewhat scratchy blanket. She could feel the straw in the mattress poking though the worn linens to prick the skin of her legs. It was late, well after dark. She was in an inn room somewhere. It could be any one of the countless rooms that she had inhabited during her lonely exile.

Someone had brought her here, removed her clothes, and put her in bed. That someone was still here.

"Sheila?" a woman's voice whispered out of the dark.

She almost screamed, but she managed to gulp in another breath instead. She tried to turn her head toward the speaker, but the muscles of her neck were sore, and slow to obey. It didn't matter. She couldn't see who it was in the dark.

"Terri?" she managed nervously.

"Yes, it's me."

"Terri..." She took in another breath. "Where are we?"

"We backtracked to the village we passed the day before last. Stay still. I let the candle go out. I'm going to get some help."

She waited in the dark as she heard Terri crossing the floor.

A few minutes later, a light appeared, and she blinked painfully at first as her eyes adjusted to the dim candle. Terri placed the candle in its holder on a small rough hewn table. The small room wasn't anything to see. Just the bed, the table, a chair, and a chamberpot in the corner.

An old man appeared out of the darkness behind Terri. His face was grizzled with several days worth of stubble.

"It's all right," Terri told her. "He's a friend. You were...ill. He offered us shelter."

Whoever he was, he was visibly shaking. Something had frightened him badly.

"Who are you?" she asked as gently as she could.

"I am Jasten Horst, my lady - the village healer."

"Thank you for what you've done."

He nodded. He was carrying a clay pitcher and cup.

"Please drink this," he asked, offering her the cup. When she hesitated, he took a sip. "It's merely water, my lady," he told her, passing it to Terri.

_'My lady' twice...A form of address reserved for those of higher station. Or a mage. _ She hadn't heard it used toward her in years._ Why would he...?_

Terri handed it to her. She held it with both hands, took a first sip and then swallowed it greedily.

"Slowly, " the old man admonished her.

She drained it, then paused, flexing the fingers of her left hand. _My hand...it's not burned..._

"Jasten, please let the others sleep." Terri was saying. "I'll watch over her."

She was vaguely aware that Terri had closed the door behind him, and sank down wearily in the chair.

Terri was wearing a roughspun cotton shirt in place of her damaged blouse. The right arm had been rolled up, and her wound had been redressed in clean bandages. Terri's face was drawn and pale, even in the candlelight. The dark circles under her eyes were even more pronounced in the flickering shadows, and her eyes themselves were bleary and unfocused. _When had she slept last?_

Memories of the last few days suddenly flooded back, causing her to drop the cup. Her hands knotted in the blanket, and she felt dizzy. It had started. Memories were finally returning to her conscious mind after Kareena's spell had worn off.

_Duncan._

She had done it. She had killed Duncan to protect Bobby. Dungeon Master was dead because of her. _Duncan's face was frozen in shock._ She couldn't get the image out of her mind. _What have I done? _Guilt surged up, gnawing at her stomach like acid, and she could taste it in her mouth. She half rolled, half stumbled out of the bed, barely making to the empty pot before she threw up.

_The locket. It had been enchanted, a trap._

She remembered.

A trap designed specifically for her. Bobby had given it to her, and -

"Bobby! Is Bobby all right?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping in the next room."

In spite of Terri's bandaged arm, she helped her to her feet and guided her back to the bed. Her stiff muscles screamed in protest as she landed, sending a dull ache down her spine, but she kept herself in a seated position. After a moment, the room stopped moving and her vision resolved into clarity. Terri picked up the fallen cup, filled it from a pitcher, and pressed it into her hands.

She sipped it slowly this time, took a breath, and tried to calm herself. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She grieved for Duncan and his family so many times over the years that she had nothing more left to give. She just couldn't do it again. The only thing that was different now was that she_ knew_. She knew why she had killed him. At least, she no longer had to wonder or fear that some unknown part of her had done it. She didn't know which was worse: knowing or not knowing.

For the moment, she was still herself. There was nothing she could do about the magic, or its effects on her. All that she had accomplished in attempting to articulate her guilt driven fear of losing her own identity to the others was to only put even more distance between herself and them. _What is done, is done. _ She had to focus on helping Bobby and the others find some way to return home. Anything else could wait. It was all she had left now. It was her remaining sole purpose.

"Terri, what happened?" she asked as Terri slumped back into the chair across from the bed. "Why was the old man talking to me like that?"

Bobby's wife shook her head. "Bobby told him who we are, but he thinks that _you_ are Dungeon Master's daughter."

_Oh, no. _She exhaled, and closed her eyes. "Why would Bobby tell him who we are?"

"Because Jasten needed to know what was wrong with you in order to help you. Of course, he didn't believe Bobby, but now he does."

Why?"

"Because you practically rose from the dead. That was what Kareena did to you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she answered bleakly. _Kareena's spell again..._ She could still feel its lingering aftereffects. _Why do I remember everything this time? _"In case you are wondering, yes, I'm still flesh and blood."

Terri didn't seem to care about the answer. "Jasten's heard stories of Dungeon Master's pupils, passed down for generations. He's even heard stories of a young girl, who doesn't age. They call her a sorceress. A witch. Some of the stories say that she is the Dungeon Master's daughter. Some were heroic, others are quite a bit less flattering." She snorted. "Oddly enough, they described someone who looks a lot _like you._" Terri leaned forward. "I don't suppose you would care to explain."

"It's all nonsense. I've lived long enough now that people make up stories. Sometimes, I've tried to help, but I just did what I had to do. The rest was made up by people with too much imagination."

"So, they _were_ talking about you."

"I suppose," she admitted.

Terri paused tiredly, as if she was considering something. "Don't do this to him."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't play coy with me. I remember how dangerous this world is. Whatever's happening to you, whatever _this_ is, don't drag Bobby into it. Even now, he loves you, without reservation," she said, her tone abruptly becoming hostile. "He practically worships you. If you asked him to jump off a cliff for you, Bobby wouldn't think twice – not even for me_._"

She found herself on the defensive. "I'd never do anything to hurt him or come between you."

"You already _have_. Because of you, he's spent his entire adult life hating himself. He left you behind. He's always charging off, trying to save the world – because he couldn't save you. He can't save the world! Don't lead him on another crusade. It's taken me twenty five years to help him build a new family and a new life. I know that man better than you _ever_ will. He's been trying to hide it, but you've turned him completely upside down again."

"I'm sorry..."

"I don't want to hear it!" Terri snarled. "Maybe it's not entirely your fault, but it's too late for apologies. Dead, your ghost tormented him; alive, you're tearing him apart. He wants his big sister back. Even after last night! I don't understand what is happening to you, what you've been through, or what you've had to do to stay alive. I honestly don't care. I care about Bobby. He might be your brother, but he's _my husband. _I won't let you do this to him all over again. He's suffered enough."

"What kind of monster do you think I am?" She asked her sister-in-law bitterly. "I love Bobby...I wish you had never returned to the Realm in the first place."

It only made things worse. Terri's already angry voice dropped to a cold whisper. "Because of you Dungeon Master is dead. Now, we have no way home. Bobby and the others won't admit that, but because of you I may never see my daughter again. I wish you had...never found us."

_I wish you had died._

It _was_ her fault. Just as she knew that trying to mollify Terri by giving her Dungeon Master's message would be pointless right now. Bobby's wife needed to vent her pent anger and frustration on someone. At least, she was deserving, and it might make things easier for Bobby.

"You're right. What do you want me to do? Leave?"

"Is that a family trait? _Run away_, just like Bobby kept running away from the fact you were supposedly dead!" Every word cut into her like the blade that drawn her blood. Terri looked toward the door, then stopped, and continued in a lower voice. "No, that's too easy. You don't get to run away. I don't like it, but we need your help. If you _really_ do love Bobby...swear to me that you will do whatever it is that you can do, and not keep him here. I don't know you, and I certainly _don't_ trust you. Leave _my_ family alone."

_So, that was what she was afraid of. _Terri was afraid that she would lose Bobby to this world, or to her.

They couldn't be a family again. Bobby couldn't stay, and she couldn't go to Earth with him. Magic was all that kept her alive. Even if it were possible, she didn't remember anything of Earth: not her parents, or even if she had other siblings. She had no way to live, no place in that world, and no place in Bobby's adult life. By now, that world thought she was dead, as Bobby had. It was best to leave it that way. There was nothing left to go home to.

"We found a way home without Dungeon Master once. I want you and Bobby to go back to your lives, to your daughter, to your family...where you belong. I promise to do what I can. I won't get in the way."

Terri nodded. "Good." She took a breath. "We should leave in the morning. Jasten won't admit it, but he's already risking enough with his neighbors by helping us. Get some sleep.I'll be here."

"Bobby needs you more than I do. Just _go_. I want to be alone."

Terri hesitated for a moment, and then left, closing the door behind her. It was only after her sister-in-law was gone that she realized that Terri hadn't bothered to ask her _why_ she had collapsed. Perhaps Terri was too tired to care, or expected her to lie.

She slowly lowered herself back into the bed, and wished she could see the stars. She had always looked at them, hoping that one day, she would find a part of herself and the life that had been taken from her. She had been given her wish, and right now, with friends and family nearby, she felt more alone than she had ever been.

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to think about it. She _let_ herself cry.

When she had finally reclaimed some of her lost memories, she had somehow felt then that she would see them again, even if she had years of doubts. Dungeon Master had bluntly told her that it was impossible. She had accepted that, but on some level, she had always known. She had only waited out the long years, and wondered what happened to each of them.

It was only a bittersweet hope, a fragment of a dream. She had imagined it, prayed and begged for it. She had cherished it every day over the endless procession of years. Hope had kept her from giving up. It had defended her from surrendering to loneliness. _Bobby was home_, surrounded by parents and siblings, a life that she no longer knew_. _He was safe. He was happy, and he was loved. Her imagination had even given Hank the family that they never had together. Eric and Diana had found some happiness, had fallen in love. All of them had followed their hearts and chased their dreams.

That dream was all that she had, and now it too was gone. The truth was simple enough.

The Realm had kept her. In return, it had let them go free.

That was the devil's deal that she had gladly made: their lives - _Bobby's_ life - in exchange for her soul. That was the bargain she had struck with fate and circumstance, the only comfort that she had left. She had sacrificed _everything_ for them, so that they could be free. It was the only assurance she had that there was still something good inside of her, some part of her that was worthwhile - because she loved them. It was a bargain that she would gladly make again.

Yet, she had always feared in the darkest recesses of her soul the day that they would meet again. Her heart had trembled in terror, knowing that the consequences of her survival meant that she had become someone that Bobby and the others could not trust, and would never love again.

It was her last thought before sorrow and weariness finally dragged her off.

* * *

She awoke to sound of muffled voices, and the tempting smell of bacon. She smiled, and slowly opened her eyes. It was then that she remembered where she was. She stared at the closed door that separated her from the others in the next room for a long time.

_That is what my life is...a closed door. There is no going back. _

More than ever, her conversation with Terri reminded her of that fact. There was no point in dwelling on things that she couldn't change. There was nothing that she could do now, except go on. Her fears had been loosed to torment her, and she had survived another night by crying herself to sleep.

_The unicorns. The Eye of Merlin._

It would take time to get to the Valley of the Unicorns from here, even with horses. She had no idea what this "Eye" was, but for Bobby's sake, she had to do the last thing that Dungeon Master told her to do. She frowned as she sat up, tossed the blanket aside, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

She tested her legs, and found herself able to stand. _One less thing. _Before she could convince the others, she'd have to convince Eric.

If she could convince the Cavalier, then perhaps the others would agree. There was no point in trying to speak with Terri. She would see it as just another attempt to persuade Bobby to remain behind with her, and take up their childhood "crusade". No, the real problem was how to get Eric on her side. She couldn't do that if he wouldn't listen. She wasn't sure how to even start.

She pushed her hair out of her face. It felt stringy, dirty, and matted. She grimaced. She had to start somewhere. A bath was welcome and long overdue. It was something benign, something that wasn't life or death, something normal. It was a first step, something that she could do something about without the risk of harming anyone.

The moment she peeked out of the door, they stopped talking, and turned toward her. Bobby and the others were clustered around a small table, eating. The old man was checking a large iron pot in the fireplace.

"Good morning," she said weakly, trying to break the tense silence.

Diana simply nodded. "I'm afraid you're a bit late. It's almost midday."

"Oh, I...need my clothes..." she told Diana carefully.

"I thought you might. Our host insisted we stay at least for another day to make certain that you are well. When he saw your bags, he started to heat you some water for a bath."

The Acrobat must have retrieved her bags earlier. They were sitting next to her chair, waiting. Diana hefted them easily, and passed them over. The bags had been opened and rummaged though. Her clothes and other personal items had been shoved back in, with no attempt to conceal the fact.

Diana never did believe in pretense, and obviously didn't care if she knew. It was painful to admit, but Diana had no reason to trust her.

_Why should she? _

"I'll get you something to eat, if you feel up to it."

"Thanks." She gave Diana a wan smile as she took her property, and closed the door.

She emptied the bags on the bed. Her purse and dagger were absent. She had expected that, but they had been far more thorough. Several seams in her clothing had been deftly opened: the lockpicks and other items that she had sewn into them, or even the ribbing itself had been removed. Anything that had a sharp edge or pin, anything that she could have conceivably used as a weapon or a tool was gone.

A man was far clumsier, and would have missed at least some of them. _Terri and Diana._

It was going to be harder than she had thought. Bobby was her brother, and Hank seemed willing to listen. Convincing Terri and Eric was going to be hard, but if Diana was on their side, it seemed hopeless. Diana seemed every inch as stubborn and as determined as she remembered her.

In spite of her dark mood, the bath felt wonderful, and for the moment, she tried to put everything else out of her mind. She took her time, scrubbing away the dust of the road.

The dress she had worn was slashed and torn, and stank of dried blood. She had worn it only to pass through the villages anyway. With her face smudged, and dirt under her nails, she was unnoticed, just another ragged villager, traveling somewhere out of some personal necessity.

Now that she had the others in tow, she reverted back to her normal traveling attire: a white linen chemisette and blouse, with a dark purple bodice and matching outer skirt. The combination had been deliberately tailored not to attract too much attention. The skirt was light, and slit was from waistline to hem. It could be quickly removed to reveal light, but tough breeches and soft leather boots that reached to mid-thigh. It allowed her to pass the expected standards of her gender, and still have freedom when climbing or another task was necessary.

She had just finished pulling a comb through her hair for the second time, when Bobby knocked.

"Hey, you look a lot better!" he grinned with false cheer when she opened the door. He studied her new appearance for a moment.

Bobby looked like hell. He was haggard, his dirty blond hair was a mess, and his face was still covered in a beard. He positively stank of days old sweat and worn leather. She could faintly smell alcohol on his breath. She couldn't help but crinkle her nose in distaste.

"Thank you...I feel a lot better," she told him, barely keeping the shock out of her voice. Bobby was staring at her in an uncomfortable silence.

"Are you all right?"

"No, not really." His mood was sober, at least. "We need to need finish our conversation, in private."

"I'll be outside, Bobby," Hank said as he closed the door behind her brother.

"That's for me?" she asked, hungrily eying over the plate in his hand, with its bacon, bread, and cheese. Her stomach rumbled of its own accord.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, passing it over.

Bobby was trying to hide it, but he was scared. She could feel it. He wasn't just nervous, but truly frightened. She waited for him to say something, but he didn't. She swallowed a bite of bacon, and picked up a second piece. She forced herself to chew this one slowly, even though she was ravenous.

"Sis, what happened last night?" Bobby asked finally. He was working hard to keep his voice steady. "You were...glowing, and then..." He seemed to run out of words.

"So they sent you to ask the questions, thinking that if I have any answers, you're my brother, and I wouldn't lie to you." Bobby's guilty expression told her that she was right. "Plus, if I am insane or able to use magic, they thought I'd probably stay calm around you. You hate this entire business, and you blame yourself, because you had to leave me behind years ago. So, you've been drinking." _Terri blames me too, and you probably think I'm out my mind._

His expression soured. "Am I always this obvious?"

"Yes, Bobby, you are. Especially when you show up at my door like _this._ I can't open the door without Hank or Diana acting like a bodyguard, and every time I show my face outside of it, everyone stops talking."

"I've a headache. Can we please not argue?"

"I'm not going to argue with you...You're old enough to make your own mistakes. We can skip the lecture." She gave him a small smile. "Besides, there have been a few occasions when I've made the same mistake you did last night."

He gave her a puzzled look, as if he couldn't believe it.

"I'm only human myself, Bobby," she assured him. "You think that I've never gotten drunk before?" She managed to suppress her laughter, and not injure his pride. "You'd better sit down, Bobby. You will feel better." She sat down on the edge of the bed, and he took the chair.

"Last night...You really _do_ have some of Kareena's magic in you...You've been trying to tell me, to warn me, and I didn't really listen. I thought..."

She swallowed another bite. "You probably thought I was out of my mind," she said casually.

He took a deep breath. "Well, yeah. You were pretty freaked out. I thought about what you said, and it does make some sense. What happened though? You just...collapsed_. _You looked like you were dead. We brought you back here, because we didn't know what else to do. Your hand was burned – by the locket?"

"Yes, but it's fine now," she said, holding it out so he could see it.

He took it in his own and rubbed his thumb across her palm. "I saw it last night, but I couldn't believe it when you..."

"Came back from the dead, without a mark on me?" She set the plate aside. "Bobby, I'm sorry if I frightened you, or anyone else. It's not something I can control. It just happens. Someone put a spell on that locket. It was meant to hurt _me_. When I touched it, it caused the magic Kareena left in me to react."

"Are you all right," he asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, but it was...very unpleasant." There was no need to tell Bobby how painful it had been.

"Venger?"

"Maybe. Duncan worked for him. He must have given it to Duncan in the hope that it would find its way to me." _But why bother trying? He knows it wouldn't kill me._

"That son of a bitch," Bobby growled. "Then that locket was a plant, to frame you! I'm sorry, I never should have believed that you could kill anyone!"

He stopped when he saw her face. She couldn't hide her guilt. "You did it, didn't you?"

"Bobby, I had to...I don't understand. You said that you saw me do it, but I know you weren't there."

"You remember now?" Bobby asked curiously.

"Yes. Whatever Kareena's magic does to my short term memory, it doesn't last as long as it used to." She paused. "I even remember last night for some reason."

Bobby groaned, and closed his eyes. "It was like a bad dream," he said hoarsely.

She didn't have to guess. "I'm sorry."

"Anyway, I saw you do it because Dungeon Master showed it to me, in my dreams..."

Bobby hesitated. There was more, but she didn't dare press him. If he was still angry, he wouldn't tell her anyway.

"He visited me too, at the same time," she offered instead.

"What was he doing?"

Tears threatened her again. She paused. She looked down, and her eyes fell on her forgotten breakfast. The food wasn't appealing anymore. She pushed the plate further away, and she placed her hands in her lap. "Trying to get you to convince me not to kill Duncan, but he was too late, and I was too _stupid_ to listen. He told me to go to the Valley of the Unicorns. To find something called the Eye of Merlin."

He exhaled, and opened his eyes. "The Valley? _What for?_ There is _nothing_ there! And this Eye sounds like another one of his idiotic quests! Are you _sure_ about this?"

"There _is_ someone there," she said softly.

"No way...Uni?" For just a second, he sounded like her little brother again.

"Yes." She almost smiled. "Do you feel like visiting an old friend?"

"All right..." Bobby sat up. "But before I try to talk them into traipsing off, they want some questions answered."

"Go ahead."

"How did Duncan get your old locket?"

"I don't know, Bobby." He gave her that blank look. "I don't." She sighed. It was going to take a long time before he would trust her again, if ever. "Why don't you just ask me what you and everyone else really wants to know?"

He shrugged, feigning ignorance.

"You are wondering if I'm still your sister, if I am still Sheila, or not."

Bobby stared at her for a long moment, considering his response. He nodded. "After last night, even I am scared. We all are. Especially after we talked about it...You told us that Kareena gave you the 'Vulcan mind meld'."

"The what?"

"The – never mind. We all remember what happened when Dungeon Master gave Eric a part of his power and knowledge. Eric spouted proverbs like Dungeon Master. You said that you are part Sheila and part Kareena. That idea -" He stumbled on. "It's rather frightening. She was Venger's sister, and not exactly a pleasant person. And you haven't been acting like yourself. You aren't going to...?"

He waved his hand vaguely in the air, at a loss for words.

"No," she told him. "I can't do that. I can't really explain what she did to me. That day is one of many things that I can't remember, no matter how hard I try. All that I can tell you is what Dungeon Master told me after the fact."

"Okay. Go ahead," he said miserably, kneading his forehead with his fingertips.

"Nature is flexible, Bobby. You can bend some rules, but others aren't meant to be tampered with. There have to be limits, unbreakable laws, even for magic. A balance has to be maintained, or everything will cease to exist, erupting into complete chaos. That includes the balance of life and death. Not even Venger will cross that line."

"_That_ sounds like Dungeon Master all right."

"I'm sorry...I should have died that day, but Kareena broke the rules. I was too far gone to be pulled back. Bobby, she _knew_ it was forbidden, but she did it anyway. She rekindled what was left my life with magic. _I_ was meant to die, not _her. _In order to balance it out, she took my place. She had to use a _lot _of magic, Bobby. More than she or even Dungeon Master could safely control. _Too much._ She died, and it damaged me."

"Damaged you?" He looked at her seriously.

"I ended up with amnesia for many years, her memories in my head, and a part of her magic. I still can't remember what my life was like before we came here." She pushed on quickly, to try to ease his discomfort. "You can tell the others that they don't have to worry. I _do_ have some of Kareena's memories, but I'm not going to hurt anyone. I'd never do that."

"After last night, the old man hasn't stopped treated us as if we were royalty. He's heard stories of us, of all the things we done, but particularly you it seems. He thinks you are 'Dungeon Master's daughter.' So what _can_ you do with this magic Kareena left you?" he asked. His tone was saying something else. _Are you lying to me?_

"Magic? Bobby, _nothing_ has ever worked even when I want it to. I can't do anything consciously. Dungeon Master used to tell me I _feel _before I think. He said it I didn't _believe_ I can, so I can't. Eventually, even he gave up trying to teach me anything. I can't _do_ things, but sometimes they just happen. Like last night. I've told you most of the rest. I can sense _your_ presence. I don't know why, only that ever since you returned to the Realm that I can feel when you are happy, or in pain." Bobby looked at her oddly. "_No_, I can't read your mind," she said emphatically. "I just _know_...Why are you looking at me like that? I _know _it sounds like some kind of spell, but -"

Bobby shook his head. "No, it's not that...and it isn't magic. That's _you_. You used to do that when we were kids...Not all the time, just sometimes, when there was no one else around to get me out of trouble. We used to joke you were psychic, and visit fortune tellers at the county fair."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but seeing understanding and acceptance on his face made her question herself._ Not magic? Have I been afraid for all these years, for nothing? Could there have been another way? _She would never know now. Duncan was dead. She stopped, and forced herself to finish her answer to Bobby's question.

"No one can find me using magic. That and my Cloak are the reasons why Venger hasn't caught me. He certainly didn't give up trying to get it, even after you left." Bobby gave her a pained look. "When I'm nearby, he can't find you either. That's all."

"Nothing else?" he asked emphatically.

"Nothing, I_ swear_. It's the one thing that seems to always work. Presto said I am so afraid of Venger that subconsciously I hide myself from him. "

"Presto. Where is he? Do you know?"

"No, I haven't seen him for a very long time. Years. Not since his wife died."

"Duncan said pretty much the same thing...Why did you do it?"

His question caught her completely off guard. She closed her eyes. He'd asked, and she owed him the truth.

"I saved Duncan's life, a long time ago, after his parents died. He was just a boy. I tried to take care of him as best I could, but _I failed him._"

"You tried to protect him." Bobby smiled sadly. "He reminded you of me, didn't he?"

"Yes." She swallowed. "Duncan's parents were murdered by their own village because Duncan's father, Jaren, had inherited Presto's ability with magic. I was too late to save his parents, but I managed to save him. I tried to take care of him, but Duncan was consumed with revenge. As soon as he could, he ran off. He killed the people who murdered his parents...and then their entire families, one by one. Slowly. He never stopped killing." She covered her face in her hands. The wounds on her heart were old, scarred over, but they were still there. They had never really healed and her heart quailed with pain, even as she felt anger. "By the time I found him again, it was years later. The boy I had known was completely gone. He became an assassin, a high priced mercenary. He liked killing. He enjoyed it. I tried to find you before he did. I just wanted to outrun him, but he caught up with us."

"How did you know that?"

"I could feel his presence, but only if he was close enough."

"This is finally starting to make some sense. You're angry all the time, because you blame yourself. If it wasn't for you saving his life, the people he killed would still be alive. You knew we were back in the Realm, because of me. So you came to that meeting to find me. You knew that Duncan was there. We would never have escaped while Duncan had his men, so you stayed out of sight, you drew them off. You came back for us – but we had already left."

She nodded.

"Then to make matters worse, Venger sent him to kill us. You had to choose between killing him or possibly watching him kill me. You had to chose between two people that you had loved."

_No more...please. Stop it, Bobby._

"You chose me."

"Yes," she said brokenly. "He would have killed you. I love you...I can't! I couldn't let him." She started crying then, in spite of her resolve.

"Look at me." Bobby grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. "_Look_ at me." She blinked, and did as he told her. He let go of her wrists. Bobby frowned. "I have to know. Did you do it because you hated him? Did you kill him for revenge?"

She forced herself to stop crying like a child, and wiped her face.

"I...I don't know. I honestly don't know. But I don't hate him, not anymore. I don't expect you to forgive me. I killed him, and I'll never forgive myself."

"I can't imagine...Sheila, I can't forget, but I can try to forgive. You'll always be my sister."

She hugged him tight. He returned the embrace slowly.

"So, now we only have to decide what to do next," he muttered.

"Well, you _could_ start with a bath," she suggested quietly.

Suddenly, Bobby roared with laughter, and the tension between them shattered. "You used to say that when I was a kid. No matter what happens, some things never change..."

* * *

Venger, the greatest living sorcerer in all the Realm, had _failed_.

He would have to accelerate his plans. There was no choice. Fate was drawing the pawns together sooner than he had planned. Now, the outcome of the game was no longer certain.

His glowing hand clinched in fury.

He had had her trapped within chains of hate. Her own fears had slowly begun to twist her soul, until she was willing to kill. With her fall, his victory would have been assured! His father and that cursed Barbarian had pulled her spirit back from the very brink...with _love_.

He hadn't foreseen this, but someone _had_. Worse still, it was someone who had foreseen that that locket would someday return to its owner, and had cast a spell on it for his or her own purposes. A spell crafted specifically for the girl.

_Someone skilled. Yes, very skilled in the Art._ So skilled that Venger himself had not noticed the trap. He had been _used!_

The flame flew from his hand easily, smoothly, almost of its own volition. He kept throwing bolt after bolt, venting his rage, until the room's furnishings were reduced to cinders.

_But who?_ Not his father. He would never have done such an insanely dangerous thing. Like a caged animal, Kareena's dormant magic had now been set free.

Sheila's body remained whole, but her spirit, her soul - was broken, shattered in two by the very act that saved her life. There was no possibility that she could master the magic or contain it within herself. Yet, her will was still strong, very strong...

_Perhaps? No, it didn't matter. _

Sooner or later, she would lose. It would overwhelm her pathetic little mind, crush her broken soul, and then finally consume her utterly – until there was nothing left but ash. With her final death, his puppet, the cat's-paw in his plans, would be gone.

Someone had taken his father's place on the opposite side of the board to finish the game. He had been outmaneuvered by someone who remained hidden in the shadows. Someone who knew him, knew the pawns, and how to play the game all too well. Unlike his father, this new player was someone who was as cunning, and as ruthless as himself.

Someone who would rather kill the girl than allow him to use her.

The game was almost three thousand years old, and the other players were long since dead. Only the young ones remained. They had been Dungeon Master's pawns, and now they were his.

None of them could oppose him. None of them had been alive when the game had begun.

Except _one_.


	12. Betrayed

Chapter Twelve: **Betrayed**

Theresa Rowen snapped awake at the table.

"Are you all right, Terri?" Diana asked quietly.

"I'm fine," she lied defensively. Thankfully, Diana didn't ask any other questions and let the matter drop.

She was exhausted. The nightmares had returned again last night. She only managed to get an hour's rest before the nightmares overwhelmed her. She awoke feeling as tired as when she closed her eyes. Last night's terror was hazy and indistinct in her memory, but it felt important. As hard as she tried, she couldn't remember it.

_Doesn't this world have anything better to do than to torture me?_

She looked for Bobby before realising that he was still talking to his sister in the other room. She shook her head slightly.

Bobby had spent most of his life blaming himself for things that he couldn't change. That he cared so much made him who he was. He was a good man, who wanted the very best for everyone, and was willing to fight for those who couldn't do it for themselves. She loved him for it. His passion for justice was part of what made him so irresistible, but it also had become a wedge between them.

Bobby's desire for justice was so strong that she and Anna had taken second place, until she had given him an ultimatum that they leave the city and that he put them ahead of his job. She had no doubts that she loved Bobby, or that he loved her just as deeply, but they both knew that Anna was the real reason that they were still together. She missed Anna desperately, and couldn't stifle her fears that she would never see her little girl again. She couldn't think about those fears for long without coming apart at the seams.

Right now, she had to deal with another world, and an insane one at that. This place was a world where the impossible was the everyday, where even the dead didn't remain so.

Bobby had found his sister again. She wanted to happy for him, but at the same time, she was apprehensive. She didn't want to admit that she was jealous of Sheila's sudden importance to her husband, but she was. It wasn't jealousy in the normal sense of the term; she was concerned for Bobby. Much of the constant self-hatred and grief that had poisoned Bobby's soul was gone. She was truly glad, but she was afraid that he wasn't the man she knew without them.

He actually aspired to be all that this world believed that he and his friends stood for. She wasn't a heroine, or even the wife of a hero - not in this world or any other. She was just an ordinary woman, with an ordinary life; and by her own admission, a little selfish. She wasn't as strong as Bobby was. That was the problem. She didn't want a famous lawyer battling corporate abuse of the common man, and she didn't want a wandering barbarian slaying monsters. She just wanted Bobby Rowen, as he could be: a normal, kind and decent man. She wanted sanity: her home - her husband, their daughter, and the comfort of normality. She was afraid that she was on the verge of losing him.

For the first time, he had looked at someone besides Anna with _hope_ in his eyes. What it represented, she wasn't sure. Was it just a release from constant guilt of blaming himself for his sister's death? Was it hope that he could be Bobby the Barbarian again: a hero - fighting at his sister's side - to save the world?

Sheila had dashed that to bits by killing Duncan, and Bobby had spent the better part of last night drinking again. All that Sheila did was hurt him, again and again. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to hate her. Sheila had died, giving up her own life for her brother's safety. If there was anything that told her what kind of person that Sheila Rowan had been, it was her husband's overwhelming grief at his sister's loss. Whatever Sheila's intentions were, hurting Bobby wasn't one of them.

Terri didn't believe Sheila's explanation of what happened to her, but she had seen what Venger had become in the Maze. It wasn't easy for her to acknowledge. She had become accustomed to leaving magic, spells, curses, wizards, other worlds, and other nonsense out of the realm of possibility. Bobby had told her that Sheila deeply feared losing the people she loved; she was deathly afraid of being alone. Everything about Sheila now pointed her being overwhelmed by years of that, to the point of schizophrenic behaviour, rather than some outside force. She was clearly mentally unstable. Only Eric was willing to consider the possibility. If it wasn't for the events of last night, he might have had the others questioning it too.

There was no chance of that now. This was an entirely different world, and magic was possible. That made the prospect even more terrifying.

_What happened to her isn't her fault. The poor girl has obviously been through hell, but what if she is telling the truth? _

No, whatever this was, hell didn't even begin to cover it_._

Every instinct told her not to trust Sheila too far. The only reason she hadn't demanded Bobby's presence already was that those same instincts also told her that Bobby was safe. Sheila wouldn't harm him. At least, what was left of her wouldn't.

Sheila had made her a promise, and for some reason Terri couldn't explain, she believed her. Someone that Bobby loved as much as his own wife and child; someone who had actually died for him, deserved a chance to keep it.

* * *

She didn't want to let him go.

For just this moment, nothing else mattered. She closed her eyes, and hugged Bobby tight. Bobby was still her little brother, and she loved him dearly, with all of her heart. She was at peace, and the terrible weight of loneliness lifted from her soul.

It didn't last. The moment passed swiftly into an uncomfortable silence, and her cares flooded back.

She let go of Bobby gently, slowly.

She wanted to ease his burdens: his doubts, his fear and worry, but she didn't know how. "I'm sorry about all of this...more than you will ever know," she confessed quietly. "If I could undo all of it; if I could fix it, I would."

"I know you would," he sighed. "You care more about me than yourself. I've_ always _known that." He locked eyes with her. "I need to ask you something. Who are you?"

"What? I told you what happened to me." The question felt like a sudden betrayal.

"Yes, you did, but you never really answered the question. Humour me."

"Bobby, I –" She knew the answer that Bobby wanted, but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. "I don't know," she stuttered. "Even after all these years...You can't imagine what it's like to wake up, and be afraid that you will see another face in a mirror instead of your own reflection, to feel that you aren't you, but a stranger in someone else's body." Once she started, she couldn't stop, and it just kept tumbling out of her. It was a confession: a release. "The only way that I'm sure that I was Sheila rather than Kareena is my own face. I've pieces of two people's feelings and memories...Bobby, and both are just as real to me. How do I know which is really me? I'm so confused! I don't know who I am!" She felt herself blush with a strange mixture of embarrassment and shame. Her hands were shaking. "I've never really been sure. I even stopped using the name 'Sheila' - because it doesn't feel like it belongs to me. The only thing that feels real to me is _you_. Not Terri, Diana, not Eric, or even _Hank_. I know them. I know about them. I even have feelings for them, but the feelings are hollow, empty. Like they are not even mine. Except for you. Every time I look at you I feel like I'm being turned upside down: admitting or saying things that I wouldn't before."

"What hand do you write with?"

"Why? What difference does that make?" she asked, puzzled, as he just smiled back at her. "My left." He took her left hand gently in his.

"Same as you used to. You haven't changed so much that I can't see you for who you are. If I'm still your brother, then you're still you - no matter what Kareena did to you. You don't know who you were once, but I do. I can help you remember." Her doubts must have shown on her face. "We can _try_," he emphasised. "We lose nothing by trying."

He was setting himself up to be hurt again. She squeezed his hand and then pulled hers away.

"This isn't easy for me, Bobby. So much has happened; so many years...I don't mean to hurt you." Bobby shook his head. Her excuses sounded weak and pathetic even to her. He was right. Rather than accepting his offer of help: his love, she kept telling him that there was nothing that he could do. She just kept repeating the same answer. He deserved so much more from her, especially after all that he had been through, because of her. "I can't undo the past, Bobby. I know you mean well, but it just won't work."

"Why not?" he asked stolidly.

"I still love you. I still have my feelings, somehow. I know that I'm your sister, but at the same time: I know I'm not. I realise it doesn't make any sense. I think...I think that a part of me, the one that you are looking for...that part of me is gone...it's missing. I've been trying to remember for over one hundred years. I don't think I can anymore."

"What are you trying to say?" he asked her slowly.

"I don't think I can get it back," she told him, meeting his eyes. "I think Kareena took it with her when she died. I can't be the Sheila you knew, ever again."

Bobby's face was stricken. "It doesn't matter," he stated.

"Bobby, you don't understand."

He shook his head. "I _do_ understand. Kareena took your memories from you, and you can never get them back. So what? You're still you. You keep telling me is that you're not Sheila anymore. We both know that's not true."

"Bobby, you told me yourself that you didn't know me anymore," she pointed out.

"I know...I was angry. I still am. I don't understand how you could…but I don't...I _can't _hate you for it. You're my sister."

"Bobby, she took more from me than just a few memories. I feel...empty, incomplete. I'm not Sheila. I-"

NO," he interrupted angrily. "Just _stop_ it. _Stop_ feeling sorry for yourself."

She involuntarily cringed. She was actually frightened and it took a moment for her to regain her composure. _What's the matter with me?_ _What am I scared of? _

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that," he said contritely. "What I'm trying to say is I know you _are_ Sheila. I can see it."

"Bobby, I haven't changed physically, but..."

"But nothing!" Bobby declared. "I'm not _that_ dense. I'm _not_ talking about the way you look. Your face, your hair, your voice...that's not what I'm talking about. The way you stand, the way you yelled at me when you got upset in the forest - just like Mom used to...That's _you_, not some stranger, not Kareena. Even right now. You keep trying to avoid hurting me. Kareena never gave a rat's ass about anybody but herself. From what I've seen, you do care. Even about Duncan. I saw how you fell apart after you..." She bowed her head in shame. "I heard it in your voice with what you told me just now. I've never seen you in so much pain. You're hiding behind it, but you can't fool me anymore. I know my own sister when I see you."

"I'm _not_ the same person," she whispered.

"So _who_ is? Me, Hank, Eric, Diana...We've all changed. No one stays the same forever," he said pointedly.

"Bobby..."

He took her by the shoulders gently. "I think that deep down, you know who you are, and you know what's right," he said bluntly. "Stop fighting it."

There wasn't any point in arguing. Bobby's mind was made up.

"I wish everything was that easy, but it's not," she told him. "You're starting to sound like Dungeon Master."

"No, I'm starting to sound like _you_. _You_ taught me that."

She didn't know what to say. She looked up, and stared at him in silence.

"So we need to talk with the others about the Valley of the Unicorns," he said, changing the subject. His face twisted into a sour frown, as if he was preparing for a fight. Bobby was preparing to argue on her behalf.

_Things must be far worse than I thought._

Terri was right. Bobby needed to heal from the wounds that she kept inflicting on his heart. Now, he was going to defend her, and probably alienate his wife further.

_No, Bobby. _There was only one thing that she could do for him, one solace that she could offer. The battle wasn't his, it was hers, and hers alone. "Not _we_. I'll talk to them, _alone_."

"That's not going to happen. I'll be there."

"Bobby, don't be so stubborn. I know you only want to help, but this has nothing to do with you. You can't help me. I have to be responsible for my own mistakes. I want you to stay out of this. They have to trust me, not me because of you."

"I suppose you're right, on that at least," he said finally. "What do you want me to do?"

"Don't do anything. Please." She stood and smoothed out her skirt nervously, then gave him a weak, but genuine smile. "Just that you are here is enough."

Before he could say more, she steeled herself, marched to the door, and reached forward to open it.

The main room of the cottage was spacious for a typical village home. Mismatched thick woolen rugs were strategically placed to cover the majority of the wooden floor, while the space itself was dominated by a large stone hearth. The far wall was nothing but shelves, crammed with worn and cracked leather-bound volumes, labeled glass bottles, and various instruments that she couldn't identify.

She ignored the rest. The others, except for Eric, were waiting for her, seated on benches around a small table in the room's center.

Eric was standing in front of the hearth. When she appeared, he turned toward her, and she paused in surprise. He had bathed and was clean-shaven. Even though he was at least thirty-five, he looked so much like his younger self. He hadn't changed much at all; except for the look he gave her. His stare was cold and haughty, as if he were dealing with something or someone he detested.

The healer, Jasten, was conspicuously absent. Eric must have read the question on her face.

"Our host was needed elsewhere," he said. "One of the villagers was injured and required his attention. It's convenient for us. I'd rather we discussed this in private, anyway." His polite manner was forced. "Please, have a seat."

She walked toward the table, but she was shaking again inside. She suddenly felt as if she were willingly marching to the gallows.

Hank slid in on the bench to give her a place to sit, and she looked at him gratefully. She froze. He was the Hank from her fragmented memories, the one from her dreams. Her heart was pounding and her hands felt cold. Her bodice was suddenly too tight. She blinked, and tried to breathe.

When she looked again, he was gone. The older Hank was there again, the one whose face didn't show his feelings, the one whose eyes looked at her with pain and regret. Hank had scraped away his dark blond beard. Like Eric, she could see a sharp echo of his younger self.

She didn't know if it was her confession to Bobby, or just the turmoil over the last few days, but her emotional defences were down. She slowly took in a breath, and sat down with as much dignity as she could manage, praying that the shock hadn't shown on her face, and that she wasn't actually shaking.

Terri was sitting directly across from Hank. Hank himself seemed oblivious, but Bobby's wife had seen everything. She was sure of it.

Terri looked far better than last night. She must have managed to get some rest, although she still looked tired. Terri nodded to her sternly. Bobby sat down next to his wife, and her hand moved to intercept his. He glanced at Terri's face for only a moment, asking his wife a question without words.

"So," Eric asked without preamble, "are you all right?"

Eric sat down directly across from her, and as always, he was blatantly suspicious. He studied her closely. There wasn't a trace of concern, friendship or even feeling in his tone. It was stiff and formal. He was asking because it was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

She forced herself not to look to Bobby for support. She had to do this herself. She struggled to keep eye contact with the Cavalier, and resist staring guiltily at the table. She took a deep breath again before finding her voice. "Yes, I'm all right Eric."

There was something else wrong, something in that tone of his. Eric had always been pompous, but he had always deferred to Hank, as the leader of their group. She remembered that clearly. _Why wasn't Hank asking the questions? _

She glanced over at the Ranger quickly. Hank remained silent, and only looked at Eric with a bitter expression. She didn't meet Hank's eyes for long, but glanced at the end of the bench. Diana was sitting on the opposite side of the Ranger. Her heart sank. As she had feared, Diana was clearly in agreement with Eric. Her best friend's answer to her look was grim, and her brown eyes were hard and depthless.

Diana said nothing.

_So, that was it. _Hank was no longer their leader.

Diana and Terri trusted Eric's opinion of her over Hank's. There was a cold logic in that. Hank was still in love with her, and so his judgment was now in question. Eric wasn't likely to believe anything she said. She should have known. They weren't children anymore. It was time to deal with them as the strangers that they were to each other now, rather than the childhood friends she remembered. She had to set her preconceptions aside.

"Good," the Cavalier said flatly. "What happened last night? You were on death's door, and now...you're...normal."

She shivered involuntarily, and felt a chill up her spine. She clasped her hands together in her lap. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

"It was Kareena's spell."

Eric grimaced. "Is _that_ all you are going to say? What was that?" He audibly choked on the sentence. "A _resurrection_? It was beyond anything that Kareena could have done! _That_ was beyond anything that Venger or even _Dungeon Master _could do!"

"What do you want me to say, Eric?" she asked quietly. "I'm sorry. I don't know how or why it works. I can't control it. Whenever I'm badly hurt, it just _happens_."

"You said you were all right. You weren't bleeding. The blood on your dress was dry."

"The locket was enchanted. Someone put a spell on it. A spell – meant only for me. It almost killed me when I touched it. If it wasn't for Kareena's magic, I'd be dead now."

"Who could do that? Venger?"

"I don't know for sure," she answered honestly. "It doesn't seem like him. If he wanted me dead, he'd do it himself. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. We all have."

They were afraid, uncertain. They were staring at her, except Bobby. Bobby only saw his sister. She had no right to ask them for anything, not even Bobby. She didn't have the right to ask them to risk their lives. Dungeon Master asked _her_ to go, but at the same time, she couldn't leave them. Venger would find them if she did!

_The Valley of the Unicorns._

That had to be the answer! Venger couldn't find them there. Once they were there, they would be safe. She could leave them there and search for this Eye of Merlin without putting them in danger. Gratitude and guilt welled up, and she barely kept her composure. Once again, Dungeon Master had given her something that she desperately needed. He had given her a way to protect Bobby and the others, and at the same time, get them out of harm's way.

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, and slowly let it out. Eric and the others were waiting.

"You want to know if you can trust me now." She looked directly at Eric. "Bobby told me that you are all...concerned." She stopped herself before she used the word "frightened." _Eric's pride is easily wounded._ She braced herself, and told him the truth. "I know there is no possible way for me to prove that I am sincere or even that I'm telling you the truth. I won't bother to try. You don't trust me, and frankly, I don't blame you. Dungeon Master - is dead." She stumbled over the words. "He's dead because of me, what I did. I didn't want that to happen. I'd never harm any of you intentionally, but that's what I've done. When Dungeon Master came to Bobby in his dreams, he also came to me."

Everyone focused on her intensely, and she found the sensation unpleasant. There was no trust in their eyes, only suspicion. There again was that strange look on Bobby's face. Something wasn't right. Something more had happened during his contact with Dungeon Master, and he deliberately hadn't told her.

"Sheila?" Hank's voice said softly. She fidgeted uncomfortably, and brushed her hair behind her left ear.

"He asked me to go to the Valley of the Unicorns. I think it's a good idea. Venger has never been able to find it. You'll be safe there, which is what I think that Dungeon Master had in mind."

"Even if what you are saying is true, hiding out in the Valley doesn't find us a way home," Eric said, placing his hands on the table. "So why would he send us there?"

"I don't know why. He said, 'Go to the Valley of the Unicorns. Find the Eye of Merlin.' He didn't take time to explain it."

Eric leaned forward slightly. "_Really?_ What else did he say?"

"He was angry with me, because of what I did..." Her voice started to fail her. "Because of what I did to Duncan. He said that someday soon I'd..." She felt warm tears start to flow down her face again, and she wiped them away. "I'd realise what I've done."

"I don't know if I should believe you or not," Eric said bluntly. "If this was twenty-five years ago, I wouldn't hesitate, but now...I just don't know."

"I'm not lying to you!"

"Eric, she's not lying." Bobby jumped in to defend her, just as she feared he would.

"I didn't say she was," Eric retorted. He turned his hard gaze back toward her. "What I'm saying is that all the evidence I've seen says that you aren't the person that we used to know. Because of you, people are dead. You even killed at least one of them yourself. Either you are the best actress I've ever seen, or you believe you are telling me the truth. Maybe both. Either way, I can't afford take it at face value, even if I wanted to. You told us yourself that whatever Kareena used to bring you back messed with your mind; that she was a part of you now. Kareena was almost a pathological liar. I'm afraid I can't find a reason to trust you."

Bobby started to get up.

"Bobby," Diana spoke up. Her voice was quiet, and Bobby hesitated. "Eric isn't trying to hurt her, or you. Sit down, _please_. You're a lawyer, aren't you? You listen to both sides. Just hear him out."

"What is this supposed to be: some kind of kangaroo court? Who are you to put her to trial?" Bobby grumbled.

Diana frowned. "No one is, Bobby. I promise. Not Eric and not me. You know I'd never let that happen."

"Bobby, sit. Diana's right. At least hear him out," Terri told him. Bobby looked at her, and then sat down again.

"All right," he snorted. "But this is a _bullshit_ waste of time. What choice do we really have?"

Eric's expression darkened, but he ignored the jibe. "You were saying, Sheila?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I can't make you believe me. What I can tell you is that the Valley is safe from Venger. If it weren't, Venger would have killed the unicorns himself a long time ago. Kelek almost gained the power to overthrow him," she told the Cavalier. "You can't believe that Venger would let matters stand. He wouldn't let someone else get all that power. If you can't believe that, you can ask Uni. She's still there with the Last Herd."

She didn't dare risk a look at Bobby. Eric would accuse her of trying to manipulate him because of his childhood attachment to the unicorn mare.

"Uni, huh? I suppose you already talked Bobby into this?"

"As a matter of fact, she did." Bobby scowled. "I believe her."

"Look, Bobby. She's your sister. I get it. Everyone here knows how you really feel, whose side you're on. Don't expect us to follow suit blindly."

"Side?" Bobby demanded. "She's my sister, and you're my friend. So, there are _sides_, Eric? Why don't you get your facts straight?" He turned to her. "Go ahead, tell them the truth."

"What truth?" Diana asked.

"She's no more a crazy coldblooded murderer than you or me! She told me that she saved Duncan's life as a child. She tried to save him, to help him. She tried to do everything for him that she couldn't do for me anymore - but he wanted revenge for his parents. He was more than just a mercenary; _he_ was a _killer_. Duncan killed the people who murdered his parents and then their _entire_ families – one by one. She blames herself for all of that. He and his soldiers would have killed us if they caught us without our Weapons. By any standard, she was right to feel her life was threatened."

"Except that it that she can't die," Eric shot back. "How is her life threatened?"

_Is that what they think of me? __A crazed killer? Immortal? _Guilt made her stomach twist.

Diana shook her head. "Stop it, both of you. I'm condoning it, Eric, but I'm afraid that she's right in her fears. We haven't lived like this in a very long time. We barely survived that last fight. Two to one odds would have finished us for certain."

"I remember...Sheila," Terri said suddenly, "why didn't you tell Bobby the whole truth?"

Bobby started at his wife. Terri nodded. "You told Bobby what he did, but not everything. No one is that good a killer, to kill _entire_ families, when they are aware of his vendetta. It would take a lifetime."

"Unless he used your Cloak, Sheila," Eric interjected bluntly. "Did you give it to him?"

"No!"

Terri, of all people, came to her defense. "Eric, she didn't. Dungeon Master gave him -"

She felt the warmth drain from her face. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"Gave him a Weapon. If he had caught us -"

"We'd all be _dead _now," Diana finished.

Hank's left hand turned her toward him. "Is she right?" Hank asked sternly.

"Yes," she heard herself whisper.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Bobby demanded.

"I couldn't...I -"

Terri turned toward her. "She's too ashamed. Dungeon Master wasn't going to give him one, until she asked him to. All those people he killed. Like you said Bobby, she blames herself." She heard Terri's voice pause. "She loved him, tried to take care of him, just like she did you. She believed in him."

"You always were naive," Eric muttered.

"Eric." Terri softened a little. "She tried to take responsibility for what happened. She tried to stop him. I...I think he _killed_ her for it."

"How? How can you know all of this?" she asked Terri fearfully.

"Ever since I came to the Realm, I've been having violent nightmares of the past. I can only remember bits and pieces, but in them, I've seen faces: you, Dungeon Master, Duncan, and even Venger. There is also someone else, someone hidden in the shadows. I don't -"

There was a loud crack, and splintering of wood. Everyone stood.

Someone was trying to break in through the front door. On the second impact, the simple latch snapped, and the door flew inward on its hinges to slam against the wall.

Men flooded in through the door with their cudgels swinging.

They caught a surprise as Bobby easily picked up the entire bench on his side of the table, and swung it as it were his club. The old wood split in two with the force of the blow, knocking two of them aside, and propelling their friends backward through the doorframe. Eric pulled Terri behind him, and drew his sword with a steely sound.

Diana scrambled clear, going for her rough staff on the far side of the room.

Hank was unarmed, but he moved forward to deal with the closest man still in the room. The villager was still dazed, and Hank flipped him over easily, pinning his arms behind his back. There was a solid _thump_ as the last man collapsed into a heap on the floor. Bobby stood over him with a balled up fist.

She turned back toward Hank. He let the man up with a wary gaze. Four men were standing outside with loaded crossbows pointed at her, the Cavalier and the Ranger.

"Don't, me lady! I can put this bolt in ya 'fore ya utter a spell. Even if you get me, one of me boys will kill the knight or the freeborn."

His heavy accent was alien to this part of the Realm. She had heard it before in her wanderings, and had fervently hoped never to hear it again. _Shouther's Reach? This far north?_

Their crossbows were well cared for - in far better shape than the simple clubs of the villagers that he had used to rush the room. He and his three companions were dressed the same as the villagers, but their movements were too precise, too practiced. She prayed that Bobby kept a cool head, and that Eric wasn't stupid enough to get himself killed.

Eric lowered his weapon, and then tossed it onto the table, and put his hands in the air. "Yur smarter than ya look, sur knight," he told Eric sarcastically.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Bobby shook his head ever so slightly. They hadn't seen Diana; she was out of their field of vision. She didn't dare turn to look at her friend or the men would know.

They entered the room slowly; keeping their weapons pointed at them, and spread out in a semicircle on opposite sides of the room. Their friends followed them into the room, turning over the table. They were quickly and efficiently disarmed, as others searched the sickrooms. The speaker passed his crossbow to another.

She watched as they bound the others' hands with ropes.

"We have somethun' special for ya. Can'na have ya usin' the Art."

One of his men reached into a pack and produced a pair of shackles made from a silvery white metal.

Faeiron.

She backed away half a step. Stark fear burned in the pit of her stomach. She shook her head. "No," she begged. "Please!"

Where or how Venger had discovered the source of the metal, no one knew; but faeiron shackles held all but the most powerful mages, preventing them from casting spells. With faeiron, it was possible take them alive, and transport them back to Venger for questioning. After they told Venger all they knew, he disposed of them. The fact that prolonged contact with the metal tortured the captives into submission was bonus.

"Don'na worry now, missy. This'll be quick."

He seized her right arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. He used it as leverage to force her onto her knees. Once there, he let her right arm free for only an instant. He grabbed both of her arms just below the elbows and held her still as the other man jammed her wrists into the cuffs. The moment the metal touched her skin, she screamed in pain as if the metal was still hot from the forge. Her arms and wrists went numb quickly. There were a thousand knives stabbing into her skull. Her body stopped responding to her will.

"Leave her alone, you bastards!"

He froze when one of the men held a dagger at Terri's throat. One of them hit Bobby over the head with a cudgel. The sound of impact was audible. Bobby fell to the floor, as Terri's captor let her go.

"Bobby!" Terri tried to run to her husband. They let her pass. Terri knelt down next him, calling his name softly.

She tried to pull free to help her brother and sister-in-law, but nothing happened; the leader held her still as the second man produced a small hammer and block from his pack. He deftly threaded the cuffs with metal pins. She started to fall forward, and her captors had to hold her upright. She barely felt the jarring impacts as the pins were hammered into place.

Then they released her, letting her fall, as the pain multiplied again and again until it was unbearable. They left her to lie on the floor, no longer a threat, locked within her own mind, screaming in agony.

* * *

Terri cradled Bobby's head in her lap. He was breathing. He seemed to be all right, just stunned.

"Terri?" he asked softly. His eyes were unfocused.

"Shhh. Don't try to move, just lie still."

Where's the other wench?" The man pulled Eric forward by his tunic.

"Who?" Eric asked, looking him squarely in the face.

He nodded to one of his men near the door. "Bring 'em in."

A few moments later, they hauled Jasten in though the door, dragging him by the arms. His face was covered in dried blood and swollen with purple bruises. One of his hands had been broken, and the fingers had been burned. One eye had swollen shut. The rest of him was just as battered.

They unceremoniously dropped him on the floor, mere inches from Sheila. He looked at her with his good eye. "Forgive me, my lady," he wheezed in a pitiable voice. "I had tell them." Bobby's sister didn't respond at all, but continued to stare straight ahead, unblinking, motionless, as if she were dead. "No!" The old man started weeping softly.

"Where is she?" their leader enunciated clearly, deliberately forcing it past his atrocious accent.

Eric said nothing.

One of his men seized the Cavalier from behind at a nod. There were loud grunts as his hand, gloved in studded leather, collided with Eric's face and body in rapid succession. The Cavalier doubled over, and the man holding Eric still kicked the back of his knees, sending him crashing to the floor.

"The Acrabat. I won'na ask so nicely 'gain."

"Go to hell," Eric muttered hoarsely, spitting blood at his feet.


	13. Friends and Enemies

Chapter 13: **Friends and Enemies**

Magnus wearily entered his rooms and collapsed into his favorite chair, staring blankly into the empty hearth. Like the wood in the hearth, today his life felt as if it was little more than cold ashes.

_Born of fire, consumed in flame._

His thoughts were maudlin as he shifted in his chair to make himself more comfortable. Undoubtedly, the worn chair had cost the previous occupant of his suite a small fortune to bring it all the way from the craftsman of Samarna. It was the only thing he had kept when he had been given these rooms upon his ascension to Master. The rest had been given to others or simply removed when he had redecorated. Magnus had no time for ostentation. He preferred things simple, solid, and practical, made for real use - much as his last wife had. In his time, he had married twice. He had loved them both, but he was old enough now to be honest with himself. He had only ever taken his first wife truly into his heart. He had married the second because she had reminded him of the first. He had been young then, too young. Like all of his kind, he had lived far beyond the span of a normal man.

He had outlived them both.

He had been told once that mages were blessed with wondrous powers. He didn't believe that anymore. They all were cursed. They were given only a bitter cup in exchange for a normal life. That was the simple truth. Almost all went mad at a young age, destroying themselves and all too often, others as well. Of those few who survived to adulthood, many turned to evil: out of rejection, bitterness and despair. Some chose lifelong solitude, unable to control their curse. Fewer still were good, honest souls who harnessed their powers, and sought only to help those in need. There was only one certainty: all of them died alone.

So far the day had accomplished _nothing_. The Council had suspended for the midday meal without a decision. The debate over Tardos Keep still raged on, with one side demanding that they honor the treaty that had been made between Queen Sulinara and King Rahmoud over one hundred years ago, the other saying that it wasn't practical.

He agreed. _What does a piece of paper matter? They are both long since dead, and we have the problems of our present._

The line of Rahmoud had two remaining heirs. The eldest was certainly intelligent enough, but thanks to the lady Merinia's influence: more a spoiled boy than a prince. Fortunately for everyone, he was still two years young to be crowned. Arrek was entirely unfit to ever rule. It was an unfortunate tradition that only a man could ever rise to the Ivory Throne. The younger was far better choice. Even if she was scheming, selfish and vain, Leneira was tractable. She could have been molded, guided, to someday be a proper queen.

Lord Amaros' regency had been agreed upon only after Arlaren and Merinia had mediated for all sides. Their efforts had saved the Empire from the specter of civil war. In peace, it had worked well enough, but after five years of war, it was an unmitigated disaster, politically or otherwise. The other lords were clamoring for the Regent's head, and for the prince to be ascended to the Throne early, in favor of presenting a unified kingdom: to inspire the people and demand the tenuous allegiance of the Throne's vassals and allies.

_And to allow the lords, and the prince's lover, Merinia, to pull his strings. _

The lords were only interested in positioning themselves during the conflict, hoping to eliminate each other and reap the rewards when it ended.

_Fools arguing over scraps in a burning house._

While Amaros was the political scapegoat, it was no fault of his in Magnus' judgment. Amaros was great man, if a touch extreme in his methods of slash and burn warfare. He was utterly loyal to the Throne, brutally honest, and a good soldier. If it wasn't for his unabashed military genius, the Empire would have lost more ground and men on their western frontier than they already had. Kadish was simply being overrun by Venger's armies, and now the other lords needed someone to blame. Amaros, like Magnus himself, had long fought on both the battlefields of war and politics.

Yes, a man like Amaros understood the realities of life, as he did. _Such are the fortunes of war._

"Forgive me Master," Enarik's voice was quiet and had a sharp edge of worry. The servant knew that he disliked being bothered while in his study. In spite of twelve, or was it fifteen - years of service now, Enarik was still afraid of him on some level. "You have a guest, Master."

Magnus stood, and removed the grey chasuble, embroidered in gold with the symbols of his station as a Master of Alchemy, Medicine, and Engineering within the Arcanium. He handed it to the young manservant, who was barely into his thirties.

"Who is it, Enarik?"

"Master Arlaren."

Magnus raised an eyebrow. It had been years since Arlaren came to see him in his own rooms. _Not since before Yalara died._

"Bring refreshment at once."

"No need, Magnus," Arlaren said as he entered the room peremptorily. "We have business elsewhere."

Magnus groaned. "Has the Council decided to resume already?"

"Come with me at once." Arlaren snapped.

Arlaren hadn't taken that tone with him since the first days of his apprenticeship, and Magnus decided to accede without argument. Despite the obvious urgency, the arch-mage took a surprisingly slow pace as he followed the old man out of his apartments. They crossed several halls, doubling back several times as they found their way through the throng of courtiers, gentry, and councilors turning toward their daily activities.

Then the old man abruptly sat down on a bench watching the passers-by with disinterest.

"Master," he asked carefully, deliberately taking the tone of the student he had been so many years ago, "Where are we going?"

The old man appeared to be dozing, but his eyes opened. "So what did you think of Hadren's argument about transmutation?"

"Hadr–. " That question of alchemy had been settled long since, in private. Magnus looked into Arlaren's eyes. _He was old, but had he finally gone senile? _"Master, we answered that long ago," he said gently. "And Hadren has been dead for almost fifteen years."

"Has he?" the old man snorted querulously.

"Yes, Master," he replied honestly, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Something wasn't right.

One of the many in the throng suddenly stopped and then started toward them. Magnus groaned inwardly. _Henric._

Master Henric was a balding, annoying, portly double-chinned Enchanter appearing to be in his middle years. Magnus disliked his company as much as his politics, but never allowed it to show outright. There had never been any friendship between them, even studying engineering under Arlaren almost sixty years ago. Magnus had been given his second rank as a Master ahead of Henric. It was the only time that he had ever seen the man be bitter. Ever since then, Henric was just too pleasant. Henric always smiled at everything, far too much for his liking.

One day, Magnus fully expected a knife in the back, with Henric twisting the blade.

"Magnus! Arlaren! Some great topic of discourse no doubt!" He called loudly, smiling cheerfully with that sickeningly Cheshire cat grin. "Would you care to rest your minds long enough to join me for the midday meal?"

"Magnus has already lost the argument, as usual," Arlaren answered dryly.

Henric roared with laughter, punched Magnus' shoulder with surprising strength in that meaty fist, almost shoving him into the old man. "No matter, Magnus. That's why he's the Archmage, and we are just lowly Masters. He's had time to practice, after all."

Before Magnus could think of a retort, Arlaren interrupted. "Thank you for your offer, Henric, but perhaps another time. The boy and I have other matters that need attending to before the session resumes."

Henric's face turned downcast, seeming genuinely disappointed. "If it must be then. A shame though. A good meal is one of the few true necessities that one can enjoy with friends. Well, I for one am not going to listen to that wheezing Master Brann without something to sustain me," he chuckled as he moved off. "Another time, Arlaren, and bring the boy," he said jovially over his shoulder.

Magnus seethed at the diminutive. He was older than he appeared, even older than Henric, but he managed to remain silent in Arlaren's company. Right now, an argument with Henric would serve no purpose, other than to reinforce the "boy" label.

Arlaren stood finally, and they continued on. The hall was clear now, and old man was able to move more easily without the crowd.

Magnus kept his surprise masked as they crossed a small promenade to enter the north corridors. He knew the old man had had another reason for loitering. That was why he had doubled back, and taken his time. He didn't want the Masters to see their final destination.

They stopped outside of the lady Merinia's suite for only a moment, beckoned in by a slip of a girl barely past her teens. She had probably been with the Guild less than a year. That wasn't surprising. Only two kinds of people tolerated Merinia's company: those too inexperienced to know better, or her own lackeys, who like herself, had a self-serving loyalty to their own ambition.

"You wanted to see us, my lady?" Arlaren asked politely as they were ushered into her presence by the initiate.

"Please be seated."

She indicated to a large _styan_ pillow, and a padded chair. Magnus said nothing. A second chair would have been appreciated, appearances be damned. He found kneeling or sitting on the customary large pillows from her province uncomfortable. The chair was a concession for Arlaren only. At his advanced age, he would have difficulty rising from the floor on his own. Given the short life expectancy in the lady's homeland, making an elderly visitor uncomfortable was an unforgivable insult. The culture and violence of her people did not often leave most living long past the age of forty. For men, that usually meant either death in battle or in ritual suicide in disgrace.

_Perhaps she saw the chair as an insult after all._

She turned to the Songweaver initiate that had escorted them in. "That will be all, Saris. Leave us, and make certain that we are not disturbed," she commanded sharply.

She offered them no refreshment. Another deliberate slight, signifying that they had no standing here. They were not her equals, and they no rights within her presence. They were not honored guests, not friends, nor family; treated with only the bare minimum of courtesy. It was well known that Merinia thoroughly detested mages, regardless of her smiles or appearance of civility. He had never dreamed that she would have the wherewithal to insult Arlaren, even indirectly.

"Master Arlaren. Magnus," she nodded to each in turn, as the old wizard sat down slowly.

Magnus ignored the seemingly accidental discourtesy of granting Arlaren his title, but ignoring Magnus' own. Like the absence of a second chair, or the simple graciousness of the offer of a cup, it was one of the little games that Merinia was so fond of: hidden insults. He refused to give her the satisfaction of appearing annoyed. The woman's entire manner was, as always, coldly formal. Magnus sat down on the indicated pillow, smiling a false smile, but all the while he studied Merinia's face closely.

By any standard a man could measure, she was a shapely, beautiful woman. Her features were fine; her skin was dusky hue of Atarr, the southernmost province of Kadish. Her lustrous black hair flowed freely, in purposeful rebellion of the expectation that a married woman of her standing should keep it bound. Dressed in a conservatively cut cream satin gown, she presented the image of a beautiful and cultured, yet spirited woman to the world, but Magnus knew better. The image of beauty was shattered the moment one met her dark eyes. They were as hard as if they had been chipped from slate. Her face was a mask, always hiding her true intentions, even from those she claimed were her closest friends and allies.

Her appearance and insistence on pleasantries was just one more deliberately crafted deception. There was nothing soft or pleasant about her. Any number of whispered tales surrounded her: the lady Merinia Eleteri, Mistress of the Veil. She was a Master Songweaver, the charming lady of the Court of the Ivory Throne, favored of the Crown, diplomat, consort of Varadin Eleteri, and a patroness of the artisans.

In truth, she was manipulative, untrustworthy, treacherous, and cunning; and as distasteful as he found her, necessary.

Kadish was a nation moribund by centuries of tradition, and having her as an ally rather than an enemy was an advantage that he could ill afford to lose. As dangerous as she was, she was a woman; and able to pass through circles of society where a man would be suspect or unwelcome.

Still, to trust her completely would be a deadly mistake.

Merinia, under the public guise of her husband's name, controlled one of the most powerful institutions of Kadish: the Lyceum. To the known world, the Lyceum represented the height of culture: master musicians, artisans, poets, dreamers, architects, healers, and philosophers. Although being funded by an allowance of the Crown, the Lyceum was seen as an institution of the people, rather than the monarchy. It was one of the few places where the common man of no family stature could advance himself in public life. If he was determined enough, skilled enough, he could be of service to his country and his people. As much as it was proclaimed an institution of learning, its true value was that it provided a place for those most likely to lead a rebellion against the monarchy to be contained: their desires mollified and aspirations channeled into preserving the society that would otherwise oppress them.

Merinia knew this, and how to play the game of politics well. Regardless of the fact she was a woman in a patriarchal society, Merinia had ruthlessly secured a place for herself in the halls of power. With the goodwill of the masses, she could easily lever concessions that she wanted, using her husband's wealth, position, and even her gender to further her own ambitions. For the moment, she had what she wanted in her position as a Master Songweaver, and power through her husband. Varadin was a drunken sot, a fool who happened to have been born with a good family name. He might well be the Grandmaster of the Lyceum, and Merinia only his consort, but her influence reached much further than appearances. Their marriage was one of convenience. She had manipulated, blackmailed, and discreetly had others murdered, until she had enabled her husband to ascend to that respected position. He was the Grandmaster in name only; she performed the actual duties that came with the title. Varadin had long since absconded himself elsewhere. Magnus surmised that that was preferably as far from his _beloved_ wife as possible.

"Master Arlaren, I'll be brief. It appears that Harim was murdered by bandits before he could return."

"Dragon's blood," the old man cursed. "Forgive me, my lady," he apologized immediately.

"My lady, return from where?" Magnus knew the answer already, but this moment required the appearance of ignorance.

The old man glanced over at him. "From the Valley of Morivan."

"The two of you sent an envoy in spite of the Conclave's decision, to refuse to treat with Venger?" Magnus pretended shock and surprise. He smiled inwardly. To take an accusing tone with one's host was extremely rude, but the breach of etiquette would be certain to convince them.

Merinia's eyes narrowed, and she actually smiled slightly. "Don't feign ignorance, Magnus. Like your master, you are not as young as you appear, and you are far too intelligent to be a fool. You already knew. That's why I invited both of you here."

He had anticipated that Arlaren would have to tell him eventually, and he had prepared for that, but Merinia reading him so close to the truth completely caught him off guard. He had to deflect her quickly! He was unable to keep the surprise from his face, but fortunately it only added to his previously planned performance.

"I admit, I suspected something…but this – this could be considered treason."

"Unlikely," the old man snorted. "That we sent someone to observe the meeting is well within our responsibilities. We would never make agreements with that fiend."

"But Ar – Master, given the state of affairs, the perception of the Arcanium to the people, even the implication that –"

"That is why it will not leave this room," the old man's voice hardened.

"It would be unwise for you in any case, Magnus," Merinia said quietly. "Given your long association with Master Arlaren, and your presence here now, no one will ever believe that you knew nothing."

"You've placed me in a difficult position, my lady," he muttered acidly, deliberately casting aside good manners. "But why risk telling me at all?"

"Because you're needed. I'm old, Magnus." Arlaren said, giving him a frown approaching a smile. "Venger does not negotiate. It's not his way. We need someone to complete Harim's task." He smiled grimly. "The lady and I agree. The time has come for me to retire."

"Master?" he drew in a sharp breath. This time, Magnus' surprise was entirely real. "The timing couldn't be worse!"

"I know, but I fear we may have other concerns that are far more pressing. Venger's machinations must be discovered. My retirement will allow me to travel without suspicion. Someone has to go find out what is happening. Someone who knows the politics of the situation, but can see past them; someone willing to protect Kadish at any cost. But most importantly, someone that we all –" Arlaren paused. He knew of Magnus' dislike for Merinia. "Someone that Kadish can trust."

"Without you, there is no way to keep the more conservative members of the Council in check. They are quite ready to depose Amaros. Kadish could fall into civil war."

"You overstate my value, my boy, and we both know that as much as you admire him, we cannot save both Amaros and Kadish. I've already spoken with him, and he is prepared to step aside for –"

Magnus screamed. The pain was so intense that he felt as if his skull were being cloven in two. The pain faded rapidly, but Merinia's rooms dissolved as the vision took hold.

The vision was hazy, unclear, but he felt it. They were older, but he knew it was them.

Hank was lying on the floor, unconscious – beaten and bloody. Bobby was down as well, his head being cradled protectively by a dark haired woman. Eric was shoved backward, as a sword flashed into view.

* * *

"Yeah, yur a stubborn man, sur knight," their captor commented, nodding. He paced grandly in front of Eric and then shrugged. "A brave man...Not a wealthy fop...You've got stones." Eric glared at the man brazenly in anger, refusing to answer. They hauled him to his feet and then hit him again. When Eric finally looked up, the man stopped and leaned forward, his dirty face only inches from Eric's own. "You've fought, struggled, seen it haven't ya? Death up close? I want yur Weapons."

Eric recoiled from the man's breath. "You got them already," he returned defiantly.

He hit Eric again. "Not these. Yur magical ones. The Weapons of _Power_."

"I don't...know what you are talking about," Eric lied.

Diana could only watch from the sickroom doorway, invisible. She was squeezing her rough staff until the splinters stabbed into her palms; until they bled and her fingers ached. She barely felt it at all. All of her life, she had learned that she couldn't afford to hesitate, but that's exactly what Bobby had asked her to do.

Rationally, she knew that fighting in this situation was hopelessly foolish. There were a dozen of the villagers; four had loaded crossbows pointed at her friends, each with a finger on the trigger. Even if they had their old Weapons, they would have had to depend on luck, and in close quarters, someone would've been hurt, maybe even killed. She ruthlessly reminded herself that if she did anything right now, they would simply force her to reveal herself by threatening the others. She had to watch them suffer now in order to have a real chance save them later.

As a teenager, she had been called an "ice queen" more than once. Certainly, she had chosen to spend her youth training relentlessly for the Olympiad, and had hardened herself to life's demands. She had chosen the life of a professional athlete over a less disciplined one, and expected the same discipline from her students - but she was not cold or heartless. She had never been forced to choose, not like this. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut. She wanted to be deaf and blind. She couldn't bear what she was seeing and hearing. She quickly grabbed the door-frame to steady herself. All of her suppressed guilt welled up. She had abandoned them years ago, unwilling or unable to help when they had needed her most. She had left Eric, abandoned him for her Olympic career. Even after that career had ended, she had refused to return to the friends - the family – that had meant so much to her. History was repeating itself. She was unable to act, unable to make a difference, and her own cold anger relentlessly gnawed at her.

She wanted to explode into violence, to do something to help them, but she had to wait.

"That's too bad," he told Eric. "Maybe one of yur friends will remember more."

Diana watched as he considered the others, gazing at each in turn.

The old man, Jasten, sat there sat there next to Sheila, his head bowed, cradling his damaged hand. He was clearly lost, unable to help her or even really react to what was going on around him. Bobby's head was in Terri's lap, as she tried to bring him around. He was barely conscious from a blow to the back of the head.

The leader's hatchet gaze turned at last on the Ranger. "Where is the Acrabat?"

"What did you do to her?" Hank demanded, finally showing emotion as his voice graveled with hatred.

It had been painful and awkward last night when Eric bluntly told Hank that he no longer trusted the Ranger to lead them. Hank's face had been completely blank as the Cavalier had laid out his reasoning. After Eric had finished, he looked around the room for agreement. Bobby had been too deep into drinking to care, but Terri had nodded angrily. Diana hadn't wanted to hurt Hank, but had to tell the truth, and Hank's eyes had been bitter with betrayal. "Lead all you want. You're welcome to it, Eric," he had said emptily. "I never asked for the job." The Ranger turned his back on them without another word, and stalking off to Sheila's bedside where he stared at her as she slept. He stayed there, until Terri lead him out of the room, after promising to look after her. Now, his eyes were almost feral, burning with anger. Diana was suddenly afraid of what he might do.

Their captor was impatient, but he abruptly shrugged at the Ranger, not even glancing at the young woman on the floor. "The chains are fer er protection," he told Hank acidly. "She'll wake in a few hours. The mage iron is painful at first, but weakens er, makes er safe fer us ta handle, so that we don'na have ta risk fightin' her. Without it, I'd hav'ta kill er instead." He shook his head. "Don'na worry, she's worth a lot more live than dead, or even the lot of ya. She'll live. " Then he grinned maliciously. "But if she's _that_ good, I might have ta try er furst."

The jibe had its intended effect. Hank started struggling anew and one of them planted his cudgel in his stomach. "Bast -" The Ranger doubled over, but as soon as the man was close enough, Hank suddenly ripped free, and jumped forward to tackle him to the floor. Rather than risk hitting his leader with a bolt from the crossbow, one of the men moved behind Hank and then drew a knife.

Diana didn't think. She reacted. She took a half a step forward, and then suddenly she froze. She willed herself forward again, but her body refused to respond. The air was thick, heavy, as if it were weighing her down. She tried to call out, to warn Hank, but she couldn't. Something intangible was stopping her before she could help. Diana struggled, but whatever it was, she was almost completely immobile.

_Don't, Diana! You mustn't! You are their only chance! _

Sheila shouted in her ear!

Her gaze snapped toward Bobby's sister, sprawled on the hard floor. Any sound or movement from her should have drawn their attention immediately, but no one in the room gave any indication that they had heard her shout.

_Sheila! Let me go!_

All that Diana could do was watch as another man shook his head, and the knife was put away. They let the two men struggle without interference.

Diana had watched the tension and despair that had been building up in Hank since their return to the Realm with helpless sympathy. He refused to talk, but it was obvious. They had been through too much as kids together for Hank to hide it. Everything that had happened to him: a lifetime of guilt, coming back to the Realm, Duncan, finding Sheila alive, the arguments between him and Eric, Bobby's near death experience and pronouncement that Dungeon Master was dead, Sheila killing Duncan, the insanity of it all... All of that rage exploded from him as he howled, hammering at the other man with his hands in a fist.

The Ranger didn't have a chance, not with his hands bound. Although he had been knocked off balance, the man blocked the following swings easily. The scuffle lasted mere moments as he beat Hank senseless. Then with an angry growl, their captor stood, shoving the Ranger forward, using Hank's own momentum to send him crashing head-first into a shelf full of books, glass bottles, and paraphernalia. Hank tried to catch himself as he fell, and barely rolled out of the way as the shelf teetered forward, smashing into the floor. The man smiled as the Ranger tried to stand again, cutting his hands on the shattered glass that littered the floor, spattering the wood with red drops of his own blood. He peremptorily kicked Hank in the face, knocking him back down, and opening a small gash above his left eye.

"I'm gettin' tired of this!" Then he shrugged expansively. "Riskin' yur friends and yur own neck. Trying ta be a hero! Just give me the Weapons! Tell me where they are!"

Hank didn't answer, and was viciously kicked in the ribs.

"Stupid fool!"

Hank took the blows. The man paused, taking a breath, then followed Hank's gaze as he looked at Sheila's face, half covered by waves of her long ginger hair. He was reaching out impotently, slowly toward her as the man crouched down to get a better look. "Ya luv er, doncha? Too bad...Er kind ain't capable of luv. Whatere she did fer ya, she did fer erself."

The desperate hungry gaze in the Ranger's blue eyes was completely devoid of reason or hope. Diana could only watch as the last bit of the indomitable Hank Garrett she knew finally surrendered. Circumstances and anger had eaten away at him. He was no longer their leader, no longer himself. Unable to save Sheila, unable to help her, unable to live with the guilt, and now unable to fight, all he wanted was to touch her face. She was just beyond his reach, and Diana could only watch as his will broke. He gave up, blood and tears in his eyes. His tormentor gave him a look of disgust, and then mercilessly kicked him into unconsciousness.

"Stop!" someone barked.

The deep voice came from the entryway. Her neck turned suddenly as whatever Sheila was doing let her go. Like a puppet with the strings cut, she almost stumbled as her head to turned to look at the newcomer.

The tall, powerfully man standing in the broken doorway was easily a match for any of them, even Bobby. He was dressed in chain and plate similar to Eric's own armor, and insulated from the mud, damp mist, and chill rain by a heavy black cloak. He pulled back his hood, revealing a worn, tired, bitter looking man in his mid-fifties, clean-shaven, his bald head crowned with the remains of straight grey and black hair that had been combed back. His face, even his hands - every visible part of him had been had been scarred and broken. When he moved, his limbs were stiff and awkward; reminding Diana more of disjointed sticks than actual arms and legs. His shuffling limp was evidence that even his legs had not been spared the apparent cataclysm of his life, but they still augmented his unnatural height. He was almost too tall, and he rested his hand easily on the hilt of a massive broadsword at his hip.

"He had better still be alive," he scowled in a deep voice that was just as frightening.

"Gerrard," their captor said nervously. "One of em, escaped...the Arcabat."

"I already know, Narvron," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Your hirelings may wait outside."

The majority of the villagers left as quickly as possible, leaving Gerrard, Narvron, and the three others with crossbows to guard them. One of them pushed the damaged door closed.

He indicated to Jasten. "Who is this?"

"The village healer," Narvron muttered.

"Your name healer?" he asked, clearly disapproving as he looked at Jasten's injuries.

"Jasten Horst, my lord..." Jasten muttered.

"Master Horst," he asked politely, "Will he live?" He nodded at Hank.

The question seemed to help Jasten regain a measure of himself. The old healer moved slowly, clearly in great pain. He didn't protest; refusing to comply did nothing to improve their situation. He made his way to the Ranger, slowly sweeping the broken glass aside with a trembling hand. He carefully opened one of Hank's eyes, and then struggled with his good hand to pull the blond man's tunic up far enough to look at his torso. There was a long pause, as Diana held her breath.

"If the blows...were not too severe...his ribs have not broken...and he is not...bleeding inside," Jasten lisped painfully. The healer had received a similar beating, his face was bruised and his right eye swollen shut. "Until he wakes, I cannot be certain."

"Unfortunate..." the knight's tone darkened even further as he nodded. "Can he be moved?"

"No. Without...knowing, he may die."

Gerrard moved suddenly with an amazing burst of speed, regardless of being lame. He seized Narvron by the front of his tunic, and hauled him into the air, to leave him dangling two feet off the floor. Then with main force, he hurled Narvron against the wall, pinning him there. "You imbecile! You were told to bring _them_, not harm the villagers. You have made this village another enemy, and that is something we can ill afford! You were told to wait. You're even a greater cretin than I ever suspected! Get out my sight!" He literally threw the shorter man toward the door. "Go, all of you, and shut the door behind you!"

Narvron picked himself up off of the floor, reaching for the dagger on his belt. Gerrard shook his head, his hand on the sword at his hip. The two men locked gazes at each other for a long moment before the smaller man backed down, slamming the door as he left. The others turned to follow him, but the last man paused.

"One day, he won't back down. He _will_ kill you, Gerrard."

"Perhaps, but not today, Bardric. Not today..."

"What of them?" Bardric asked nervously. "I shan't leave you alone."

Gerrard didn't turn, nor take his eyes off of them. "What more can they do, my friend?" he asked quietly. "If they kill me, you can do what you will, as you see fit. This is a private matter, of honor. Please, do an old man a kindness, and remain outside."

As soon as the door closed, he suddenly focused on Sheila. Jasten suddenly tried to move quickly to block Gerrard before he could reach her, giving the man a proprietorial glare. Gerrard shoved the old man aside, and then he knelt closer to her, turning her over toward him. The manacles on Sheila's wrists glowed softly with a faint argent light, pulsing with her every agonizingly sharp breath; the harsh sound of her breathing was laden with pain. He gingerly brushed aside her long hair to get a clearer view of her features. She was alive, but her eyes were dull, lifeless and empty: dead.

"Aly!" His face twisted in shock mixed with interminable anguish. "Impossible!" he exclaimed, backing away. He seized Eric by his tunic, dragging him to his feet. He was genuinely afraid and angry. "Explain this treachery!"

"I told him, and I tell you: go - to - Hell."

"Servants of Venger…Whoever you may be, whatever evil you intend, it ends: here and now!"

Diana leapt forward to stop him as his sword came free of its sheath in a flash of deadly quicksilver, flying into his hands.

* * *

Merinia and Arlaren had both pressed him for details, but he refused to answer. They didn't know of his past, and the less they knew the better - for their sake. Arlaren followed him doggedly back to his rooms, but he had sent the old man away, along with two physicians as soon as he could convince them that they were not needed. He had shut the world out, and collapsed into his favorite chair to fall into a troubled sleep.

When he awoke, he was still exhausted, but his head felt better. He had paced for an hour before finally pulling it from a shelf.

The manuscript that Magnus held was old, very old, and intimately familiar. It was a journal: the last record of all of the sacrifices that he and his friends had undertaken while travelling the Realm.

Varla had treasured the original. In memorium of his beloved, he had taken from memory as much of the original as he could remember - penned in the empty days and nights that followed, to help soothe a broken heart. Reading it now, he realized that he had forgotten so much of what he had so carefully rewritten all those years ago. Perhaps to the rest of the Realm, it was all that remained of a lost hero's legacy: utterly priceless. To Magnus, it was a bitter reminder of the twisted creature who had betrayed everything that Sheila Rowen had ever believed in. He flung the manuscript into the hearth, and watched it burn, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Almost two centuries had passed, and he could still see the pages burning in the flames, their edges curling and blackening, just as he discovered their home burning, and Varla - dead on the floor; Alysebeth staring ahead blankly catatonic, holding his daughter protectively in her arms, surrounded in red golden light – completely untouched by the fire, although she was standing in very heart of the inferno.

_She_ had sent the vision. He had felt her magic.

It was bait, to lure him out: bait that he couldn't ignore. She had finally decided to end it - to complete her revenge at last - for his part in destroying her mind. It was a trap, but there was no choice: trap or no. He had to get his friends to safety, to protect them. He owed them that, and so much more.

She was certain to have lied to them, as she had to him about the cause of Varla's death. They couldn't be blamed for love or their misguided loyalty. Sheila Rowen was dead. She had died long ago. If they chose to stand in his way...They would. Of course, they would. That madwoman would have tricked them all into believing that she was still Sheila. Bobby would never stand idly by while the thing that had taken his sister's body was destroyed. She would use them as pawns, to protect herself.

One thing was certain. This time, he would make _sure_ she was _dead_, once and for all.

"Master?" Enarik's uncertain voice came from behind him. He had specifically told Enarik that he did not wish to be disturbed, even if it was the ghost of Rahmoud himself. "Forgive me, but the maid Marda…"

"Out of my way, you pompous ass!" Marda barged in past Enarik as he turned. She was pale; her face was riven with pain and fear. She was shaking; her long brown hair was in complete disarray. She was still wearing a soiled apron from her day in the kitchens.

"Marda?"

"Come quickly, Uncle! Father is very ill!"


	14. Interlude: Alysebeth and Gerrard

**~ 14 ~**

**Interlude: Alysebeth and Gerrard**

Alysebeth closed her eyes and took in a slow breath as she watched the suns rise. She shivered, and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders.

She gripped the stone to steady herself. It was cool to the touch from the desert air, but its solidity was reassuring. It had been here for over a thousand years, and it would be here long after she was gone. Never in the twelve years that she could remember, had her heart ever been so heavy, so afraid. She couldn't sleep, so she had come to the Gallery to face her fears rather than let them keep her awake any longer.

The invaders below covered the entire expanse of the Dust Vale, the narrow valley that led to the gates of the fortress city of Tardos Keep. Their campfires dotted the predawn twilight like a leprous disease, and the orcs that surrounded them had one purpose: to destroy every living soul within the protection of the Keep's great walls.

The cold fear settled in the pit of her stomach. She was the cause of this. She felt it in the depths of her soul.

_Foreknowledge is a gift_, the woman's voice in the dreams had told her. She didn't agree. It was a curse.

The dream had haunted her every moment that she closed her eyes. It was only a dream, but sometimes her dreams were too real, too certain to be ignored, and the same voices were always there. As she watched Venger's army stir, she knew the truth of it. She would see death before this day was done. The only question was how. She knew that she would never see the suns rise again.

_Why? Why do I know this? Who am I?_

She didn't know, and the only real clue that she had was the ring on her finger. It was an elaborately wrought golden ring inset with a sparkling red stone. It had no markings to help, and the only information that she had discovered since was that it was a very rare gem called a heartstone. Who had given her the ring was lost to her past. She had always worn it on her right hand, but she often wondered if she had been married or betrothed in that lost life. Did she have a husband: a man that she had loved and forgotten? What if she had a family waiting for her or mourning her loss? The doubts wouldn't rest, even though she knew she could never have had a normal woman's life.

Aside from the ring's obvious value and her first name, she knew little more. Gerrard conceded that everything about her affirmed what she could already guess: that her that her poise, her manners, her fluid grace, her speech, her ability _to read and write_–_everything_: every word, every glance, every movement – betrayed her upbringing as a noblewoman. Her fair complexion and unusual ginger hair suggested that she _could _be from one of the villages of Tyrean Lowlands, but that didn't seem likely. The people of the Lowlands were only farmers: they had no royalty, no nobility, and no real cities. Often their villages were lost within the vast stretches of the Swamp of Darkness. Each village cared only for its own. They did not welcome outsiders or much less speak with them. She did not speak the Common tongue in Lowlander fashion, and a gold ring inset with a rare stone was unheard of in such a place.

She was a mystery: a contradiction that he couldn't help her solve.

Her life had started over shortly before she met him. She awakened in the infirmary at Southkeep: a garrison of Celestial Knights that guarded one of the passes from Zinn through the Elderteeth to the Deep North. She had no memory of who she was or how she had gotten there in the first place. With a blizzard a few days before, it had been pure luck for a patrol of Knights to find her at all. The commander of the garrison said that his men had found her: uninjured, but feverish; among the bodies of orcs, and her own guards. They had been half buried in an avalanche of snow, only a mile from the keep's doors. The only other survivor was one of her men-at arms, who had shielded her from the avalanche with his own body. He had asked for "lady Alysebeth" as they returned to the keep, and died an hour after from exposure. Neither he nor his brother's corpses had any markings or livery. The Knights couldn't explain why she was in that desolate place; or why an unknown noblewoman would take such a foolish risk. She had somehow survived the orcs' attack, and the weather that should have killed her.

It was nothing short of a miracle she was even still alive, much less completely untouched.

The Knights waited a week for the weather to lessen, and then prepared an escort to take her out of the pass to the city of Zinn: the seat of King Alander, the current monarch. Travellers from other lands frequented the Palace and his scribes could determine who she was or at least where she was from.

A lone soldier came through the pass on the very day they were to leave. His term of service was ended and he was returning home to his son. Gerrard spoke little and gave them no news that they didn't already know, saying only that he wanted to forget these last few years entirely: everything that he had seen and done in war. He agreed reluctantly to accompany them as far as the valley below. The passes over the Elderteeth were still being crossed by roving bands of Venger's scouts, so his sword was welcome.

The only homecoming he received when they reached the valley was a troop of his brothers-in-arms sent to "greet" him and then take him to a private audience with King Alander. Gerrard told her the entire truth then. He had not been sent home; rather he had deserted.

He had went north hoping for glory, renown, and pride - perhaps even gaining an adoubement to pass on to his son, and his son's sons – a future other than dirt and the cellar door. His actions in battle had saved countless lives, and ended the Battle of Criade in Zinn's favor. He was knighted on the very field where so many had died, and hailed as the hero by his comrades. Stories spread of the farmer who became a soldier; then a knight. He was a man who had nothing, who rose up and became a hero to serve his people. The stories grew until they were more fancy than fact, and the officers encouraged them – making certain they were told throughout the ranks, for the sake of morale. Three long years after it began, all of it turned to ash. He finally received word of the death of his wife in childbirth, eight months after he had left. He had lost both her and his newborn daughter – leaving his young son in the care of strangers.

So he decided he had done his share. He left.

When they reached the city of Zinn, the king couldn't execute him for fear of unrest, nor could he allow desertion in a time of war. So he offered clemency. No one would ever know that the Hero of Criade had left his post, as it would shatter the army's unity. Gerrard was given a duty that would allow the Crown to save face, and let him be with his son: as the Captain of the Guard to the ambassador to Tardos Keep. If he served well, he would be allowed to retire in peace.

The Knights requested aid for her, but despite the Crown's efforts, they failed to discover who she was. She had not been known to the Crown of Zinn before passing into their territory. Finally, when Gerrard departed for his new post, she had nowhere else to go. She went with him.

Four years ago, after eight of unwavering service, the ambassador returned home, and conveyed his final instructions from the king. Gerrard was to remain – as the new ambassador. The Hero of Criade was rewarded with a great honor.

As he left, the elder man pointed out the obvious. Tardos was too far away to be an effective ally, and with the northern wars against the barbarian tribes escalating, the cost of the embassy was of no practical benefit. The entire delegation was to leave with him. Queen Jeana of Tardos had already been informed of such, leaving Gerrard with no real authority. The politics were clear. Zinn was using the recall of the embassy to rid itself of a "hero" without causing a scandal. They had no intention to ever release him from his new "post." He would never return to the lands of Zinn.

He had been quietly "rewarded" with exile.

It really didn't matter. After twelve years, Gerrard and his son, Lahren, thought of the Keep as home. They thought of her as family, expressing a deep affection for her that bordered on blind devotion. At first, she feared it was sympathy, she had no one else. She had tried to discourage it, but she simply couldn't keep her distance from them. Everything inside of her, everything that she was, had already given her heart over to loving them both. She had followed them here into exile because of it. She needed them as much as they needed her, perhaps more. The thought of losing either of them now was too much to bear, and she wiped the silent tears away.

_I'm not supposed to be here. What if I'm not supposed to be loved? I'm not even sure I am human._

That truth was bitterer than any other. For twelve years, she had watched as Lahren grew from an awkward boy into a strong, confident man of nineteen, far wiser than his age. He was married now, and he and his young wife were expecting their first child in scarcely half a year. Gerrard had entered into his mid-thirties, showing signs of early gray in his dark black hair. He had finally found a small measure of peace, and showed a joy that she had never seen at the prospect of being a grandfather.

She, on the other hand, was a source of worry for them both. The people of the Realm had a deeply ingrained fear of magic, even from those they loved. At what point had their love for her become the cause of misery and uneasy fear? She didn't know. Every time either man looked at her they couldn't hide it from her. She simply didn't get any older. She periodically altered her appearance to look older in public, but it was getting more difficult to hide with each passing year. For all of her efforts, people were starting to comment. Gerrard and Lahren loved her, and tried very hard to accept it, even as they worried about the unnatural cause. Now that Lahren was married, she would have to tell Kandra; but she wasn't certain of how without frightening her. At the moment, it no longer mattered. Venger's army had besieged the fortress, and both of them were leaving along with the rest of the people to hide in the mountains.

She felt the warmth of the first sun on her face, when the sound of his iron-shod boots on stone broke the silence.

"Hello, Gerrard," she said softly.

As much as she was glad that he was there, she wished that she was still alone. She welcomed his reassuring presence, but she couldn't give in to her first impulse to tell him everything. Having him so close, yet now be unable to tell him what was really in her heart was intensely painful. There had been a time when she could have told him anything, when he looked at her differently than he did now. She never allowed their relationship to become more, even though she wanted it to. The ring on her finger and even her own heart stopped her, and then time convinced her that it was for the best. He grew older while she remained unchanged. It was more than just a physical change of age. Inexorably, time changed who they were. She was now more of a sister or daughter to him than a potential lover. Her own feelings slowly evaporated, bit by bit, until there was nothing romantic left. As she stood there, she wondered again, if he had been right. Perhaps she had been afraid to let go of a past that she could never remember.

It was too late now for "what ifs" and regrets.

There could only be one reason for Gerrard to find her this early. He wanted her to leave with the others, while he remained. She refused to discuss it further. They had already argued long and harshly. She wasn't going to condone "heroic suicide", and she wasn't going to follow his wish to run away meekly while he stayed behind. She was _not _his wife, not his lover; not even the daughter he had lost. He had no right to tell her to do anything. As much as she knew that she would have had to say it eventually, she'd never forgive herself for deliberately hurting him.

She didn't like where her thoughts led, and broke the silence again. "Has he arrived?" she asked, hoping that she was somehow wrong.

In the heat of their argument, she had let it slip that Venger was coming before he arrived. All reports placed the sorcerer somewhere on the borders of Kadish – half a world away. She knew it wasn't true. She knew that he had arrived last night. She continued to feel the sick, nauseating aura of his presence. It had started the moment he was close enough. She didn't dare say more. If she did, it would place Gerrard and Lahren in danger. She loved them both too much to risk it.

"Yes, my lady," he said tightly.

He was obligated to offer her a title in public by custom of her accepted status and his appointment as an ambassador. Now he said "my lady" with a distinctly angry chill in his voice. In three small words, he widened the gulf that had opened between them. Her heart broke. They had been as close as any family, and she had helped him raise his son. In private, she was not even Alysebeth. To Gerrard and Lahren, she was only "Aly", and Aly was all she ever wanted to be.

Not anymore, and now never again. Everything had changed.

"We should –"

He started to speak, but at that moment, she felt something other than Venger's twisted presence, and she motioned for silence. She heard the steely scraping slither of metal as Gerrard drew his broadsword, and it snapped her attention away from whatever it was for a heartbeat. She turned to face him, and she blanched. There was more than fear in his eyes. He was afraid of what was happening: what she heard. Whatever was present could not be stopped by a sword. It touched her again, as if it were a brief puff of air on her skin: gentle and soft – but unable to see where it came from or where it went.

_Sheila?_

At the sound of that name, silent as a whisper, her heart simultaneously melted in joy and froze in horror. She couldn't understand what was happening - why it provoked such a conflicting reaction. As suddenly as it came, it was gone again.

_First the dreams, then I feel Venger's presence, now I hear whispering voices! Am I going insane?_

She shook her head quickly, denying it. "No, it's nothing." She looked up directly into Gerrard's eyes and saw the fear and doubt, and the pain: the pain that she was causing him, because he had loved her. She wasn't normal. She couldn't simply be a normal woman. She had to be someone who didn't age; someone who could feel Venger's disgusting presence crawling about inside of her head. Someone who knew things that she shouldn't possibly know. She knew that the Keep would fall.

"I know what you would advise, Gerrard," she said softly. She closed her eyes. "We have no choice." _No, I can't leave._

He scowled. "Yes, my lady."

She winced again at the honorific. "He warned me that this time would come," she whispered to herself, thinking of one of the voices in the dream, "but I didn't want to listen."

The Keep had stood unconquered for over a thousand years, but never in memory or song had it faced an enemy as terrible as this nightmare. Venger had learned from his mistakes during the reign of Sulinara, and had planned well. Traitors had poisoned the wellsprings before they were caught. Without adequate drinking water and the ability to irrigate the Gardens, they were finished. Venger had found their one weakness, and exploited it. Unable to solve the problem before Venger's army had entered the Vale, Queen Jeana had sent everyone she could into the passageways underneath the Keep that led into the mountains. With fewer needing water, Tardos could hold out longer.

Venger completed his plan as he meticulously blocked every way out of the Vale so that there was no way of resupplying the Keep. All that a normal general would have had to do was wait until Tardos would willingly surrender. His only danger would have been the heat and sandstorms from the Dustlands slowly breaking his army's morale. Venger couldn't afford to wait too long. For all of his plans, Venger had made one mistake. The main force of the army below was orcs. Orc psychology didn't allow for a protracted siege. The longer they simply waited, the less obedient they became. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake. Venger understood orcs well.

He had them batter the Gates every day, forcing the defenders to respond.

Not only did it deplete the Keep's dwindling water faster, it only fed the orcs' lust for blood as their comrades died. As soon as it was light, his entire southern army would descend upon the Gates again. With his magic and such a force at his command, there was little real hope. Even if he sacrificed half of his troops, they would still outnumber the people of Tardos twenty to one when the Gates finally fell. The Gates were reputed to be unbreakable, but that wasn't true. They had been rebuilt as little as two hundred years ago, and the Inner Gate had been added. Dungeon Master himself had hardened them against sorcery, but the secret of making them completely invulnerable to attack had been lost with the Keep's original builders long ago. It was only a matter of time before either the Gates fell and they were slaughtered; or they were forced to surrender due to thirst.

"Is it done?" she asked.

"Yes, my la –. Yes, Aly." His suddenly gentle voice reached across the distance between them. "I burned it myself," he said. "The dragonbane is destroyed."

Her heart melted at the pain in his voice. Bitter arguments no longer mattered. She still couldn't tell him what she wanted to and any further attempts at apologies would only wound his pride. There was no need. She tried to reassure him, stepping forward to squeeze his arm briefly. He gave her a lopsided smile in return. No, there was no need to talk. They understood each other.

If the queen had commanded the dragonbane burned, then she truly believed that the Keep was lost. They both knew what that meant. Emissaries had been sent, asking to meet with Venger at midday, to surrender the Keep peacefully. Queen Jeana didn't actually intend to surrender, only delay Venger as long as possible – to give her people more time to escape. If he held off his assault until then, it was so much the better. Grim plans were already in place. When the Outer Gate fell, volunteers planned to hold the Inner Gate. They would send as many as they could to their families in the mountains, and then collapse the passages. Those who remained behind would face Venger.

Without the rare plant that could slay a dragon, Venger's assault was for nothing, and his wrath would be terrible. Staying was a death sentence.

"A small victory," she agreed quietly. "It's time we left. It would be dangerous to keep him waiting, Gerrard. Not to mention _rude_." She gave him a small smile as they left the Gallery together for what she knew would be the last time.

Gerrard laughed, and then gave her a wide grin. "Truly, my lady, I'm the soul of good manners."

She took the lead as they descended the High Stair together into the bowels of the Keep, passing near the Outer Gate. They emerged into the Corridor: a massive vaulted hall between the Gates that contained protected galleries far above. It certainly looked impressive, but its purpose was hardly for show. If an enemy breached the Outer Gate, they would have to enter the Corridor to breach the Inner Gate, and the defenders would rain death down on their enemies from above, beyond their reach.

The watch guards nodded to both of them. "Milady," one said quietly.

They quickly left the gates behind, entering the Keep itself. Gerrard seized her arm, steering her toward the Vaults that led to the passages below. "I want you to go, Aly," he said. "Right now. They are waiting for you. Lahren and Kandra are with them."

She managed to rip her arm painfully out of his iron grip. She stopped, crossing her arms in annoyance. "I'm _not _leaving, and that's _final_."

"You _are _leaving, my lady," he snapped, matching her tone evenly, "Even if I have to have Lahren _carry _you, trussed and gagged."

He was serious. He _would _do it.

"I can't," she pleaded. "Don't ask me to."

"I'm not asking."

"Gerrard, please...Don't."

"Don't be a fool, Alysebeth. I am a _warrior_, doing what has to be done, but you have no place here!"

She met his gaze. "I can't explain why, but I _know _that I _have _to be here."

"Those premonitions of yours?" he snorted, and his brown eyes seemed to darken. "Why would you need to be here?"

"I don't know," she admitted, as she shivered at the certainty. It felt like a lie. She couldn't remember the dream's details, but she knew it was true. She crossed her arms sternly and forced herself to stare back at him. "But it's the one thing I'm absolutely sure of."

"Tell it to Lahren, on your way out of -" He reached for her left arm, and she stepped back away from him defiantly. "Seven Hells! Don't be so pigheaded!"

A loud roar interrupted them from the direction of the Gate, followed by three horn blasts. Venger had breached the Outer Gate, and the bellow of the horn echoed throughout the doomed Keep.

There was nothing that Gerrard could do. There was no chance of joining Lahren now. The soldiers stationed at the passages within the Vaults below would rush those waiting through, and were probably already knocking down the supports that kept the passages to the mountains open. They would fight bravely, defending these halls to the last, but they had already lost the battle before it had even begun. The mighty walls that had been strengthened by stone and spell for over a thousand years meant nothing.

Tardos Keep would fall, and every living soul within would be dead before the suns set.

Gerrard didn't hesitate. "We have to get you to the Vaults, before we are overrun." He snatched her arm, dragging her along at a breakneck pace, darting downward though dimly lit passages even as guards rushed past them, going the opposite direction. A passing soldier with a captain's bars stopped them.

"The passages are being sealed off! You're too late."

"My son, with the last group?"

"Safe," He nodded quickly. "Well on their way to the mountains, my lord. They cannot be followed. We are rallying the last defenses in the Corridor and the Great Hall. Come on!"

"I cannot. I must get the lady Alysebeth to the Vaults, where she can be hidden. It's her only chance!"

The captain nodded. "One more on the defense won't make a difference. Watch over her. Go. Maker keep you both." Then he dashed after his fellows.

"It's too late! Let me go, Gerrard!" she protested, trying to pull away. "If I surrender to Venger, he'll let the people of Tardos go."

"Why? Why would he?" he snapped. He didn't understand.

"Dungeon Master...is my father," she said in a small voice that he could barely hear – not even believing it herself as she said the words aloud.

How could that be true? But she knew it was.

Gerrard was staring at her. She watched his eyes as he finally understood what the words meant. Did he believe her? Was he was thinking about how could he have not seen it? It explained the premonitions, the dreams, her unaging youth – everything - including why she had been in that mountain pass twelve years ago. She was the daughter of the greatest wizard the Realm had ever known. According to the legend, Dungeon Master's daughter – she - was a sorceress in her own right, and one of Venger's greatest enemies. Venger would certainly be willing to bargain for her surrender. She was afraid, but as long as Gerrard and the people were safe: her own life was a small price to pay.

"We don't have time for this!" he sputtered. "If we can get you into Vaults, perhaps you can hide there long enough to escape being captured," he said, trying to drag her forward again.

She planted both feet, and deliberately shifted her weight to stop him, but he was far stronger than she was. He had a firm grip, and all she did was make him angry. He heaved on her arm. As soon as he had both hands on her, he grabbed her waist and slung her over his right shoulder.

"Put me down!" she shouted as she struggled, but he completely ignored her and started forward again.

The stone beneath them pitched as the whole Keep shook. The air filled with choking dust that covered her face and made her eyes water. Chunks of the ceiling came crashing down, one striking Gerrard on the back, sliding off of his armor, barely missing her. Gerrard lurched and stumbled, spinning about. She felt him let go, and for an instant she was in midair. The last thing she saw was the wall coming toward her.

* * *

She opened her eyes slowly as her temples throbbed unmercifully with every breath and heartbeat. The smallest movement was agony. She had been lying on the hard cold stone of the floor for some time. The cold had seeped through her clothes and into every muscle in her body. She let her eyes adjust to the dim light from a cluster of green nearby.

_Cryptmoss?_

She rolled over quickly, as quietly as possible, and then froze. The Keep had been under attack, and Gerrard had tried to take her into the old Vaults.

_Where is he?_

She collided with something cold was next to her and she felt it with her fingertips. _Stone. _It was cool and smooth with definite indentations. It had been shaped, squared, and finished. She forced herself up on her hands and knees, and then sat on her legs. Her head ached, but she wasn't dizzy. That was a good sign, at least.

"Gerrard?" she whispered quietly, afraid of the darkness for fear of whom might be looking for them. He didn't answer. "Gerrard?" she called a little louder. He wasn't here. He wouldn't abandon her.

She felt panic start to rise. _What if he was somewhere down here, and had been hurt? _No, she didn't want to think about that. If he wasn't here, she'd never be able to find him: crawling around in the darkness. _No. Lahren is safe, but Gerrard and the people of Tardos Keep are in real danger. _She had to find Venger. She had to sacrifice herself to stop this insanity. First, she had to get out of here. The Vaults were a labyrinth of passages, chambers, and burial tombs. There was a frighteningly real possibility that she might never find her way out, especially in the dark.

She didn't try to stand, but crawled forward slowly on her hands and knees, uncertain of the floor. She felt her way forward, feeling for a wall. Where there was a wall, there was a door. She searched for what seemed like hours, then days, then an eternity in the black with only the sound of her breathing and her aching head to remind her that she was still alive.

She finally felt something that was surely a doorframe, but there was no opening; only more cold stone. There was a faint draft on the floor. This had to be it. She pushed with all the strength she could muster, but it didn't move. Perhaps there was a latch of some kind. She searched and searched, but there was nothing. The surface was completely smooth.

The dreams! The visions of her death: buried alive, forever trapped in stone. This was the place! What if she was sealed in?

Cold unreasoning fear suddenly seized her. What if Gerrard was _dead _and he was not coming back for her? She knew what the result would be. Venger would kill everyone she loved. She reached desperately higher searching for a way to escape, but her touch found nothing, and she slid down the smooth door to settle on the floor with her arms wrapped around her legs. Without realizing it, she had started to cry silently.

"We _know _of you ancestry, Lord Eahn." A muffled, faint and familiar voice shattered her blackened nightmare. "Help us enter the tomb, then you and your family will go free: unharmed. My master gives his unbreakable pledge. What does it matter? What concern do you owe the dead over the living?"

_What does he want from Gerrard?_

There was a long silence.

"As you wish," the voice said calmly. "I will kill the Princess," the tone became sarcastic. "Oh I beg your pardon, your _Majesty_. I'll kill the Queen. After the Queen, you and your son will watch his pretty wife die next."

_How could that be? Lahren and Kandra were far away by now._

"All right!" Gerrard shouted. "I'll do what you want, but I don't know how!"

"It's quite simple, I assure you. The seal requires a willing touch from a descendant of Pendragon. There were once two families of the his progeny. Yours remains, and only you and your son survive. Either your touch or your son's will do, but I will brook no more delays. My master grows impatient."

The roar of grinding stone filled her ears, the stone door behind her started to shift. She pulled away from it quickly, as light flooded in to her dark prison. She scanned the room in a heartbeat. The tomb was dominated by a richly decorated stone sarcophagus in the center, a detailed effigy of a woman lying in repose upon its heavy lid. She retreated quickly behind one of the pillars that supported domed roof, praying she had not been seen.

Gerrard stepped in first, followed by a tall slender woman in blue. She had been beaten, but she was easily recognizable as none other than the Princess Elenya, the Queen's eldest daughter. They were followed by a dozen ugly green-skinned creatures. Their jutting teeth resembled a boar's, and they watched their captives with harsh yellow eyes.

_Orcs._

She knew that she was right, although she could not remember ever having seen one of them before. The sight of them made her blood run cold, but she knew that she wasn't afraid of them. She knew who she was afraid was truly of: their master, Venger.

So, it _was _true. She was Dungeon Master's daughter, and Venger and she were enemies.

The last one to enter was a man dressed in the rust orange armor of a Guardian of Tardos: one of the Queen's personal guards. She inhaled a sharp breath. All she had to do was give herself up, and it would be over. She froze.

It was Harel.

She was completely aghast. It wasn't possible! She had known him since he was a small boy! Harel and Larhen had grown up together. Harel was ambitious and hotheaded, but he was a good man. He would _never _willingly betray his people._Venger must have forced him to._

"At last." Harel said as he gazed at the sarcophagus, caressing the effigy on the lid with one hand. "The tomb of the lady Viviane herself, the wife of Merlin. You four: guard them carefully. The rest of you: break the seals, open the casket."

He was a willing party to this. It couldn't be true! She realized that it was his voice that she had heard threatening Gerrard.

_Why Harel? What are you after?_

The orcs started forward when one of them stopped. He stiffed the air audibly. "Someone here," he declared. "Me smell dem."

"Don't be ridiculous," Gerrard interrupted. "This is a tomb."

Harel paused, closing his eyes for a long moment. "Of course," he said cheerfully. "You always never were far away, were you? Always looking after him, and his son. I know you're here, my lady. My friend's sense of smell is far better than mine, and even I can detect the faint scent of your perfume. Sunlilies always were your favorite." She froze. "Come out now. If you don't, I promise the results will be most unpleasant, for you and for him."

"All right, Harel," she said, as she stepped into view. "Just don't hurt anyone. Take me to -"

"Strange, isn't it?" Harel interrupted. "How easily one remembers the smell of familiar things...or people?" He stopped smiling, glaring at her with amazement, looking directly into her eyes. Whether it was fear or a trick of the light she wasn't sure, but she watched as his eyes quickly became completely black. "_YOU!_" He growled, suddenly furious.

At the same moment, she stumbled backward. Her heart was pounding. She felt a freezingly cold sensation throughout her body, as if she had fallen into icewater. Every part of her felt numb. It was hard to concentrate.

"Whatever you came for, you won't have it," she declared. The words came out of their own accord, as if somehow she knew the right thing to say. Whoever this thing was, it wasn't Harel. "What have you done to Harel?"

"How interesting," He shook his head. "You would sacrifice yourself for these people? You're so much like your father. He's spent three thousand years trying to atone for his crimes, but he'll never wash all of the blood from his hands. And _you_…" The sadness in his voice deepened, and his words became somehow warm and trusting. "You would be used by Dungeon Master as a puppet. How sad. You've lost everything. So uncertain. So lost. So alone. So afraid. You don't have to be afraid anymore. You _can _love someone. You can be a woman: have a life, a family. I can heal you. Did you know Harel desires you? To him, you are the most beautiful of all women. I felt Harel's despair, and I revealed the truth to him. He accepts you for who you are."

_What? What did he know? _The thought faded away, inconsequential, drowned in those black eyes.

"Release her! Your business is with me!" Gerrard shouted. She recognized the words and their meaning, but they were unimportant and far away.

"No, this is not your fault," Harel said soothingly. "Harel lent me his form, so that I could help you. They left you powerless twelve years ago." Harel squinted at Gerrard curiously. "Look at him. He _knows_! I can read his soul through his fear of the truth. He doesn't love you. He never did. He's known all along who you truly are."

"You're lying!" she stammered, denying it. She wanted to believe him, but part of her refused to. She was fighting to able to speak, but she felt the truth closing in about her, and she couldn't escape.

"Am I?" he asked slowly. He nodded at Gerrard. "_He _lied to you, _Kareena_." He stepped forward, and gently touched her cheek, wiping the tears away. "Yes, you are Kareena, Dungeon Master's daughter. I have no desire to bring you pain, but you must know. Dungeon Master sent this man to you…to hide the truth from you: that you are a sorceress. That you have _power_. His exile from Zinn was nothing more than an elaborate ploy to influence you, to gain your kindness. He wanted to bring you here so that he could keep you under your father's control! He stood by and watched at Southkeep while Dungeon Master – your _own _father - erased your mind, even as you struggled to remain yourself. They wanted you powerless to stop them. Don't be afraid. Ask him. His fear of you can't hurt you anymore."

"He's lying," Gerrard spat.

She could see the truth on his face, and in his eyes. Gerrard was the one who was lying.

_Fight it! _The voices from her dreams shouted at her. _You must!_

Gerrard couldn't hide the lies anymore, but there was something else in his eyes. Not the fear Harel spoke of: but love. Gerrard did love her, and he was afraid of what Harel was doing to her. She couldn't deny it. With that sudden realization, the web that Harel had been spinning around her heart fell apart. Harel was telling the truth, but not all of it, just enough to twist its meaning: turn it into lies. Her body felt warm again, and she shook her head as the numbness faded.

"You owe these people nothing, Kareena," Harel said. His voice no longer sounded gentle or sympathetic, but hard and cruel.

"Get away from me!" She backed away, finding herself against the wall.

Harel's face twisted in rage. "Hold him!" he ordered his orcs as he pointed at Gerrard. He smiled at her happily. "I'll enjoy watching you squirm while he dies," he sneered, drawing the sword at his side and turning toward Gerrard.

"No!" she screamed.

She felt a hot surge well up from deep inside, and then golden fire erupted from her hands. The fire slammed into Harel like a battering ram, throwing him backward through the air for several feet as his weapon clattered to the floor. The orcs chose that moment to flee for their lives.

She stared at her hands in complete disbelief for only a heartbeat. She felt the magic inside of her that had been hidden away. Suddenly, she remembered. She remembered everything. She was Sheila Rowen, no she was Kareena! Details were indistinct, but she remembered days, weeks, years, centuries. It filled her up like a hurricane. She couldn't contain it; it was too much to remember. She didn't have to contain it. She had to set it free.

"You'll never touch him!" she screamed. She blasted Harel again. "Never!" She had lost her brother, her family, her friends, and her entire world. She wasn't going to lose Gerrard too.

"Aly!" Gerrard yelled, calling her name. "Stop! You can't control it!"

She barely heard him. The fire felt good. All of the years of loss, fear, the anger, not knowing, of being ashamed of what she was, having to hide; she gave it all to the fire. It fed on her greedily, consuming everything, hollowing her out - promising release at last.

Harel stood, but she kept flinging cascades of flame at him. He kept coming toward her, shrugging them off as she flung one after another. "I can taste your fear and anger. Feed it all to the fire! You failed twelve years ago," he taunted her. "Those men died because of you! Your family is dead! Your hopes are dead, and your beloved Realm's precious magic will not save you!" he crowed.

She blasted him again, much harder, and he finally staggered backward. It was too much. A small part of her watched in horror as Harel's body evaporated in the flames; the rest of her smiled, wanted to shout in exultation!

The agony of his screams made her pause; brought her back to herself.

_Oh my god! What have I done?_

All that was left of Harel was inky blackness that could only be described as a man sized shadow.

_Shadow Demon._

It tried to move toward Gerrard. It couldn't get near him. She kept at it; her fire was an impassible barrage. It howled in rage as it tried, flinging itself with mindless hunger into the path of bolt after bolt.

She felt herself grow dizzy, and her legs felt like rubber. Every frantic blast was weaker than the one before. She stumbled, falling to her knees, trembling as she forced herself to fight on. What strength she had left was fading fast. It was only a matter of time before she lost.

It was standing over her, with a raised fist, ready to strike, and dark as night, limbed in black fire. "No, I won't kill you yet! Watch as I break him; wear his flesh!"

_No!_

Her long hair went wild, flying around her face as if caught in a gale. Everything was golden flame that rapidly became an incandescent white. Shadow Demon recoiled, hissing like a snake. She felt the air around her sizzle, heating up in a flash. The fire flowed into it and she heard an inhuman screech. It fled out of the tomb door to vanish into the opposite wall.

"Kareena! You have to stop!" she heard Gerrard's voice from a far distance away.

She couldn't. The fire was free, and it kept building inside of her. She could feel it. It was consuming her from the inside out. It wanted to burn. It wanted to destroy everything…all of Tardos Keep, and every soul within: friend and enemy.

"Get out! Seal the door! I can't…hold it much longer!"

"Get out!" He shoved a frightened Elenya out of the tomb, and then touched the door to close it. He tried to get closer to her, but the heat drove him back, burned his face and hands. He had to leave! The magic would kill him as surely as it would her.

She felt her body start to fail. The Keep shook, the walls and floor becoming an intricate spiderweb of cracks that started to widen.

As the tomb sealed itself, Gerrard seized her hands, in spite of the fire burning him. "You have to stop it!"

"I...can't...Please...go!"

"No! I'll never leave you! Stop this, or we both die!"

Her body was filled with crushing pain. She couldn't breathe. She knew she was dying. Any instant she knew her heart would give out, and then the magic would consume what was left of her. Without her to contain it, it would destroy everything: obliterate the Keep, Venger's army, even the Vale - everything. It had already started. Men and women were dying as the Keep was shaking itself apart. The fire was already reaching beyond the Keep's walls, undermining the sands above. She felt the desert swallowing Venger's army.

She felt the terror of thousands as their lives were being snuffed out. They fed the fire – made it stronger.

"Don't let this happen!" he shouted.

With supreme effort, she tried to force the magic inward, and she screamed in agony. The fire distorted her senses, everything contracted until there was only Gerrard, and the fire within. Everything else was lost in the flames. The walls vanished, and she saw an empty desert under twilight. It was far away, and yet so close, all that she had to do was reach out and touch it. She could feel the grit of the sand beneath her fingertips.

She instinctively understood. She could leave the Keep behind. There she would die alone without harming anyone else. Gerrard would be safe.

_Reach out to that place,_the voices from the dream were shouting at her.

"I...love...you," she gasped, and then seized a handful of the imagined sand.

* * *

There was a bright flash that made Gerrard cover his eyes, turn his face away. The tomb plunged onto darkness and the world into silence. As soon as could, he crawled toward the door, and opened it. He was rewarded with torchlight from the sconces outside.

All that was left of her was a scorch mark in the shape of her body, and a faint trace of ash. The cataclysm was over. It didn't matter. He felt nothing. Nothing mattered, not the pain of his burns, or the army outside.

He had lost her.


End file.
